


Starbird

by Guanin



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Asexual Armitage Hux, Asexual Character, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, M/M, No Sex, Psychological Trauma, Rated For Violence, Torture, Violence, asexual poe dameron, sensual touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-17 22:04:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 37
Words: 119,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14198616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: Armitage Hux shouldn't be here. A First Order general had no business lying in the arms of a rebel, enjoying his touch, allowing himself to be comforted by tender hands and caring eyes. He should leave. He should want to leave.A story in which Armitage permits himself to explore aspects of himself that he'd beaten down and buried away, yet now erupt to the fore.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place before The Force Awakens.
> 
> Everything to do with the military is wildly inacurate, often by design. Due to an injury, I also had no energy to do research on top of writing.

_What am I doing here?_

Armitage had absolutely no idea. He’d rather not be on this planet at all, thank you very much. Hosnian Prime was so… _democratic_. Its politicians squabbled like children, so stubbornly enthralled by undermining each other that nothing ever got done, urgent proposals languishing for years while the senators argued over minutiae. But Armitage had business with some of those senators (all wisely loyal to the First Order) that had to be conducted in person, so endure the rabble he must. 

However, there was no “must” about his presence here outside this pub. He had a few hours to kill, so he’d gone out for a walk to stretch his legs, and enjoy what he could of the change of scenery. While he wouldn’t trade his position on the _Finalizer_ for anything, other than a grander ship, he did admit to himself that being planet-side was a relief after a long stretch on the ship. A sky (mostly blue with some building cumulus clouds promising rain later), real atmosphere (not recycled air), wind (he never realized how much he missed this until he felt the gentle pressure stroking his skin), and the aesthetic pleasure of vegetation and wildlife was a pleasant diversion from his everyday life. Many were bothered by the birds’ sharp ululations and chirps since they were so accustomed to only hearing the humming of engines, boot heels, and commands, but Armitage rather enjoyed them. Sometimes, a particularly familiar sounding call reminded him of—

Never mind that. It didn’t matter. Those days were long past. Such nostalgia would only hinder him. He needed to move forward, not back. Literally, as well as figuratively. Exactly what would be accomplished by inquiring what this puzzling sign on the pub’s window was about? 

_Ace meetup today_

That was all. No context detailing what precisely was meant by “ace”. Likely, it was a frequent event, so the establishment felt no need to explain further. If the term were being used as an adjective, a noun would follow it. Therefore, the word itself was the noun. And only the first letter was capitalized, so it wasn’t an acronym.

Armitage stiffened as a likely possibility occurred to him. Planets like this one were known for indulging sexualities that would get an eyebrow raise or worse elsewhere. For the most part, the gatherings and parades of the past had faded away as their societies evolved, but there were still a few communities whose numbers were so small relative to the rest of the population that they benefited from seeking each other out in more formal gatherings. Or so he’d learned while browsing the holonet in search of an answer to his particular difficulty. 

He really should have followed Rae’s example and left things alone. He’d lasted thirty-two years with absolutely no interest in such activities, so while the First Order strongly encouraged procreation to increase their numbers, he could easily continue to exempt himself from this duty. At his rank, certainly no one could order him to marry and father children. Snoke had once implied something along those lines, but, after Armitage recovered from his horrified shock, he had realized it was a joke on his dishonorable origins. A dig at the bastard child who paid for an unfortunate misstep with a blow to his dignity as well as to his face. 

None of Armitage’s weapons had ever failed to function properly again, yet the fear had stuck that he might, indeed, be forced to renew his bloodline. After all, he’d been taken from Arkanis simply for being the son of Brendol Hux, illegitimate or not. So he had sought out a suitable, attractive woman, someone who he certainly enjoyed looking at and who kindled the urge to stroke her hair and brush his lips over her skin, and he’d asked. Not ordered. He would never do such a thing. He made it very clear that he wouldn’t abuse his position to retaliate should she reject him, even giving his word. He knew many of his subordinates whispered all sort of vitriol about him when they thought he wasn’t watching, but no one had ever accused him of breaking his word. She agreed. She even seemed enthusiastic, although he hoped that this wasn’t a show for his sake. So they retired to his chambers and had sex. 

It didn’t go well. The word “abysmal” came to mind. He had done his research, spending hours on the holonet, often in pages that made him recoil, a reaction that made him more determined to do this. So he knew the right steps, what was considered traditional and more adventurous. Yet his inexperience was obvious from the moment he kissed her. And disliked it. He disguised this distaste and went along with her offer to teach him, but it didn’t help at all. He had enjoyed stroking her back and her breasts, which encouraged him to hope that perhaps his unease was just due to lack of practice, but the moment that they’d fully undressed, a deep, sick displeasure had churned in his gut. He’d dimmed the lights, but it hadn’t helped, for he’d still had to touch and be touched in areas that he quickly realized he never wanted to let anyone near ever again. He’d followed through, his body enthusiastic, even when he himself wasn’t, forbidding himself from quitting early, needing to be absolutely certain that he couldn’t stomach doing this again. 

He’d had her transferred to another ship. He’d even thrown in a promotion under strict instructions never to speak of this to anyone. If they had kept their pants on, he would have been perfectly fine. With the exception of the mouth on mouth kissing, he had delighted in the feel of her skin rubbing against his and the slow exploration of her upper body. But going below the waist had been boring at best and nauseating at worst. He’d only ever felt so undignified around his father, a feeling he’d sworn never to submit to again if it didn’t serve his quest for power. If he ever actually needed to have children, he’d have them created in a lab. He’d marry, if he had no choice, but his genetic material would only be combined with another’s without his direct participation. 

Two years had transpired since this incident, thankfully without the need to take such measures. Yet the encounter had also thrown another matter into sharp relief, reminding him of something that had popped up in his research, but which he’d dismissed, uncertain whether he wished to explore further. Since then, he’d returned to that search result, exploring in bits here and there, then for two hours straight one night when he couldn’t sleep, slowly accepting that what he’d taken as a defect was not only not an anomaly, but normal, even common. People like him even formed communities, both online and off, not that he’d ever involve himself in any. Although he did sometimes fantasize about meeting someone who shared his tastes (and distastes), who he could touch and be touched without any of the other stuff. 

Hux stood by the pub window, staring at the sign, his body refusing to move forward to continue his walk. If his guess about the nature of the meeting was correct, and he went inside, then… 

What? He wasn’t on this planet to make friends. Was there such a thing as a one night stand that didn’t involve sex? That would be acceptable. He’d be able to scratch this itch and gain some satisfaction, however fleeting, with no strings attached. But this was all presumption. The people inside might just want to talk, or be seeking a long term relationship. Or be here for entirely different reasons. Maybe the word “ace” meant something else, as well. There was no way to know for certain without going inside and asking, so that was exactly what he should do. He wasn’t a coward. 

Straightening his back and squaring his jaw, he strode to the door and swung it open. Great, now his shoulders were too tense and he looked angry. It was only a question. What was so damn threatening about a question? Subtly, he took a long, measured breath and loosened his limbs before approaching the bartender. 

“Excuse me,” he asked. “What is the meeting about?”

“An asexual group meets here every Thursday.”

A lifetime of dedicated practice kept Hux from visually reacting. 

“Thank you,” he said simply, stepping away from the bar.

Inside, relief and apprehension swelled through his body. Asexual. He had been correct. By a back corner only meters away, a large group was gathered across three tables. Mostly humans, an abednedo, a couple of twi’leks, and a zabrak. Should Hux actually go over to greet them? Would there be a point to it? They did seem to be simply talking. About the Five Sabers. Was he really going to spend his afternoon discussing racing with a bunch of strangers? 

Armitage lingered, weighing his options, and decided that he was being ridiculous. He was a First Order general, not some needy child. He turned around, almost bumping into someone behind him.

“I apologize,” he said, sidestepping to get past the man standing mere inches from him.

“It’s my fault. I was too close to you.” 

The man smiled, a friendly gesture that brightened his whole face. And it was a handsome face. Very handsome. Fine features, tan skin, brown eyes, dark curls falling across his forehead. Even his voice was appealing. He only stood as high as Armitage’s chin, but he had never found shortness to be an unattractive quality. 

“I was actually coming up to introduce myself,” the man said. “I noticed that you were staring at the ace group like you weren’t sure whether to go over or not.”

Damn, now a stranger had noticed his prevarication. 

“I was. But I think I’m going to go.”

“We’re a friendly group. I know at first with these things it can feel a little intimidating, but we’re very welcoming. You’ll feel right at home in no time.”

We. So this man was one of them. Interesting.

“I’d still rather not,” Armitage said carefully. “I’m not feeling up to large groups today.”

“Okay.”

Armitage waited a beat. Perhaps he could coax this man into chatting one on one. He may not be an expert in these matters, but he didn’t think he was mistaken in detecting interest in the man’s eyes. 

“You know,” the man said, “if you want something smaller, I’d be happy to hang out with you for a bit.”

Excellent. After pretending to consider this for a moment, Armitage smiled.

“Alright. That would be more amenable.”

The man’s smile widened. He held out his hand.

“Great. I’m Poe.”

“Armitage. It’s a pleasure.”

“Likewise.”

Poe’s hand was warm. Skin a little rough at the fingertips, but otherwise soft. Armitage felt a pang of regret as he let go. Well. It seemed that he may have found exactly what he was looking for.

`````````````````

They sat a small table at the opposite corner of the pub, talking. First about what the group was about, which Armitage wasn’t terribly interested in now that he’d found a beguiling companion, but he went along with, else Poe might get suspicious. Thankfully, that subject didn’t go on for too long, and they soon turned to, of all things, the Five Sabers. But he didn’t mind discussing it with Poe at all. It had been the prospect of a large group that he’d found so draining. He enjoyed racing, and, although he didn’t have much time to keep up with the major competitions, he had made time during this trip, which now proved to be his saving grace. The finals were next week, so it was the only thing the people in this planet were talking about. And Poe’s enthusiasm wasn’t limited to racer stats and prowess like most people’s. He carried on about the ships themselves just as much. Armitage smiled at the fervor in Poe’s face as he spoke, so animated that his hands hadn’t ceased moving for a second as he described the exhilaration of executing a Corellian barrel roll in an A-wing.

“You’re a pilot,” Armitage said after Poe regaled him with the advantages of a T-85 X-wing engine versus a RZ-2 A-wing. 

“That obvious, huh?” Poe said, returning the smile. “You know plenty about the subject yourself, but you don’t feel like a pilot to me. Are you an engineer?”

“Not by trade, although I do use my skills to improve my ships. I own a shipping company.”

“Okay. That’s cool. I was going to guess military.”

“Based on what? My posture?”

“Yeah. The way you hold yourself, it’s very upright. Precise.”

“I was in the army, but I mustered out to run the family business.”

Poe looked excited about the martial connection. Of course, he assumed that they were both New Republic officers.

“I’m navy,” Poe said. “Captain Dameron. It’s good to meet a fellow officer.”

“Captain Sondiv. Likewise.”

Learning that Poe was in the navy was actually a disappointment, for it made Poe Armitage’s enemy. Technically, so was everyone in the New Republic, but the civilians would soon be allowed to become First Order citizens. Well, not the ones on this planet. No matter his profession, if Poe remained in the Hosnian System when Starkiller Base became fully operational, he would die. A pity. The man was quite charming company, and not only because Armitage couldn’t quit wondering if his hair was as soft as it looked. Although Poe deciding to turn against his superiors and join the First Order was a possibility. Several Republic officers were in the First Order’s payroll. But this little fantasy only lasted a few moments. 

“My parents fought in the Rebellion,” Poe said. “Mom was a pilot. Dad a pathfinder. I took after my mom fighting-wise. I’ve been flying since I was six years old. Obviously, not alone at first. Mom sat me on her lap. I couldn’t even reach all the controls.”

So, not only was Poe a captain in the New Republic Navy, but was also the son of rebels. He was probably a rebel himself. Truly disappointing. 

Or perhaps Armitage could turn this to his advantage. He might be able to ferret out a secret or two. Any seemingly mundane bit of information might be useful later on. And Armitage wasn’t so delicate as to be disgusted by the idea of touching the enemy. Despite his unfortunate ancestry, Poe was just the sort of intelligent company that Armitage had been yearning to find for years, and he was very nice to look at on top of that. Armitage was eager to find an occasion to touch him again. 

“Are your parents still in the military?” Armitage asked, making the question sound casual instead of probing.

Poe’s face fell a bit.

“No. They mustered out after the Battle of Endor. My mom died when I was eight. A fever. She only got to teach me for a couple of years.” 

Oh. That wasn’t the sort of information that Armitage had been looking for. It was a weakness, something that could be exploited, but… Deceased mothers wasn’t a subject he ever liked discussing. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking down at the table.

“Thanks. But I’m fine. I just have to honor her memory, you know?”

Armitage nodded slowly. Honoring his own mother’s memory wasn’t something that he gave much thought to. She had been a cook, a lowly worker in the Academy on Arkanis. His memories of her were so faint that he couldn’t be sure that most of them were real memories at all or dreams. Or memories that had become dreams. Except for the last one. When that bounty hunter had come to return them to the Empire, and his father had broken into the tiny room Armitage shared with his mother and snatched him away. The man who brutalized him had ripped him from his screaming mother’s arms. 

He had never seen her again. Only once he was free of his father’s shadow could he return to Arkanis. His mother had died a year after Armitage had left her. An unidentified illness. The coroner hadn’t even bothered finding out what had killed her. Murdering their shared tormentor was the only thing Armitage had ever done that could possibly be construed as being in her honor, and even that had been mostly for himself. 

“Armitage?”

Armitage’s head jerked up. He’d been lost in thought too long. God knew what his face looked like. But he’d clearly given too much away, because Poe was leaning forward in concern, his brow knit. 

A rebel worried for him. It was sickening.

“Are you okay?” Poe asked.

Armitage sat up straight, composing his face into a calm façade.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“You didn’t look fine.”

Must they really do this? Their conversation had been perfectly pleasant until now. He took a breath, waiting, but Poe showed no signs of letting this go. Oh, alright then.

“My mother died when I was six.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t expect us to have that in common.”

Armitage began composing a reply in his head when Poe touched him. He laid a hand on Armitage’s left forearm, which was leaning on the table. The pressure of his fingers reached through Armitage’s jacket and shirt. He urged to shake it off, to reassert himself, to refuse to be pitied. But this wasn’t pity. It was empathy. A connection. Poe wasn’t merely imagining how horrible it must be to lose a mother. He knew. He’d lived it. 

Armitage heard ice cracking under his feet. This was supposed to have been a casual meeting. Inconsequential. It wasn’t meant to stir up emotions that he only indulged when he was alone, and then, only when he had no choice. He should leave. Now.

But no one had touched him with such tenderness since mother. No one. Ever. 

“I didn’t expect it, either,” Armitage said, berating himself immediately for his honesty, for the emotion in his voice, for sounding so damn vulnerable. 

He didn’t leave. He studied the understanding in those warm eyes, felt the lingering sensation of Poe’s hand even after he’d drawn it back. Armitage leaned into it and he didn’t care.

Time passed. They moved on to safer subjects, like starships and the annoyances of city life.

“Hey, uh...” Poe said. “This might be a little bold, but… would you like to come back to my place? I mean, I don’t know what you like and don’t like, and this is too soon for a lot of people, but…”

He trailed off, looking at Armitage in an eager, suggestive way that had nothing to do with sex. They had both established that they were very much uninterested in those activities.

“I like cuddling,” Poe had said. “And kissing. But nothing in my pants, thank you.”

“You want to cuddle with me?” Armitage asked now.

Cuddling was such a soft, sweet word, two descriptors that had no bearing on Armitage at all. But the activity itself was exactly what he’d been hoping for. 

“If you want.” Poe raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m not pushing.”

“Yes.”

Poe smiled. How dare a rebel have such an alluring smile? 

Armitage reached out to Poe’s left hand, which he’d dropped back on the table. He skimmed his fingertips along Poe’s knuckles, up to his wrist, and into his jacket and shirt as far as he could reach. Poe’s skin felt heavenly under his touch. Poe’s smile grew wider. 

`````````````````

It was only a five minute ride in Poe’s speeder to his apartment, which still gave Armitage plenty of time to consider the folly of what he was doing. He decided that he didn’t care. Poe kept glancing at him from the corner of his eye and smiling. Only concern for their safety kept Armitage from touching those fetching curls on Poe’s head. Poe’s apartment wasn’t anything special. A one bedroom, tastefully, yet sparingly decorated with paintings of starfighters on the walls. The man did have a fixation. It wouldn’t occur to Armitage to hang a picture of the _Finalizer_ on his wall, but he did live in it. That would be too egotistical. 

“Are any of these yours?” Armitage asked, pointing at one of the paintings.

Poe shook his head.

“I have flown the same models, though. This one,” he tapped on one of the A-wings, “is the same as my mom’s, except hers was red instead of blue.”

Those speedy, little A-wings had given the Empire a lot of trouble. This should be another moment when Armitage wondered what he was doing here, but Poe was taking off his jacket and offering to take his, and their respective ancestries didn’t seem anywhere near as important as kissing that fascinating hollow at the base of Poe’s throat. But he had to build up to that. 

As soon as Poe put their jackets away, Armitage grabbed his left hand and renewed his stroking, more thoroughly this time. He rubbed down Poe’s palm, tracing the lines there and tangling their fingers together. On a whim, he raised Poe’s hand to his mouth and kissed his palm. As soon as he’d done so, he wondered why he had, why he’d yearned to sink himself into that warm palm, inhale his scent, feel the slight curl of Poe’s fingers pressing on his cheek.

“Getting right into, huh?” Poe said, that pretty smile ever on his face. 

“Why wait?”

Poe chuckled. He touched Armitage’s face with his right hand, cradling his cheek before skimming up his hair. Soon, loose strands fell across Armitage’s forehead, freed from the product that kept it firmly in place. 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Poe said. “But I was staring at your hair the whole time at the pub.”

“Oh, I did notice.” Armitage let go of Poe’s hand to run both his hands through Poe’s hair. “Did you notice me looking at yours?”

“Yeah.”

Armitage’s hands met at Poe’s nape. He gazed at Poe’s neck. Not so easy to reach from this angle. Poe was quite a bit shorter than him.

“This would be easier on a bed,” he said.

“One bed, coming right up.”

Grabbing Armitage’s right hand, Poe tugged him toward the bedroom. Poe’s bedroom furnishings were as simple as the rest of the apartment’s, but the bed itself was soft as Poe pulled him down on it. They lied side by side, Armitage facing the window. The sun that had previously annoyed him by burning his skin was now a boon as it highlighted Poe’s curls around his still smiling face. Armitage grabbed his waist, sliding his hands across his back. Poe cradled his face, stroking his hair.

“Do you like kissing on the mouth?” Poe asked. 

“No.”

“Okay. How about kissing anywhere else?”

“That yes. You?”

“Yeah.”

Armitage took that as his cue. Shifting lower on the bed, he placed a soft kiss between Poe’s collarbones, careful not to press on his windpipe. 

“I like that,” Poe said, fingers pressing encouragingly on Armitage’s scalp. 

Armitage slid up the side of Poe’s neck, his lips and nose stroking his skin with the barest touch, and tugged Poe closer as he kissed his ear, nuzzling his jaw. His skin thrummed, the lovely sensation of touching Poe cascading through him, filling a part of him that he’d long ignored, shoving it to the back of his mind like every other weakness his father had tried to beat out of him. 

“Hey,” Poe said softly, rubbing his back, hands more gentle than he’d felt in years. “You okay?”

Damnit, how had he given himself away this time?

“Yes,” he said, meeting Poe’s eyes, refashioning his face into a pleasant expression.

“Well, your arm’s trembling. And your breath’s a little short, although that could just be excitement.”

His breath? Trembling? How the hell hadn’t he noticed that? He inhaled steadily through his nose, forcing his breath to stabilize. 

“It is excitement.”

“Even the trembling?”

Armitage itched to leave again. Poe must have seen the urge on his face, for he patted Armitage’s shoulder soothingly, saying,

“You don’t have to tell me. I won’t pry, okay?”

Poe brushed his hair, even more softly than before. Comforting him as if Armitage were a weeping child. For a flash, Armitage imagined himself ripping those pitying hands off him and storming out of this damn apartment, never to see Poe again until one of his TIE fighters blasted him out of space. 

His stomach churned, an iron fist twisting his gut. He ducked his head, pressing it to Poe’s chest so that he couldn’t see his face, squeezing his arms around him.

“Whoa,” Poe said, hands on Armitage’s back. “It’s okay. Whatever it is. I’ve got you.”

The rebel scum had his back. Splendid. Why the fuck had Armitage entered that pub in the first place? But Poe’s body was so warm, his touch so caring. 

Why did Poe care? They had barely met two hours ago. Poe didn’t know a damn thing about him other than that his mother died when he was young and that he was military, and, even then, not which military. Even if Poe wasn’t Resistance, with those parents of his, he’d be kicking him out the door if he knew who Armitage really was. If he was Resistance, then he’d try to bring him in. Either way, Poe would be disgusted by touching him like this. Armitage should be just as disgusted. Clinging to the son of two rebels. Clinging to anyone. It was weak. Pathetic.

_You need to grow out of this disgusting neediness, boy. You’re not a baby. Stop clinging to your mother like one._

Armitage pushed himself off the bed. 

“I have to go,” he murmured, pulling on his boots.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Slow down.”

Poe reached for him. Armitage jerked out of the room, rushing to the closet to grab his jacket.

“I forgot a meeting I must attend,” he said, yanking on the garment so quickly that the left sleeve got stuck on his elbow. 

Why was he giving Poe an excuse at all, even a transparent one? He should have just stormed out. A New Republic pilot didn’t merit his courtesy. 

“That’s bullshit,” Poe said, trying to block his path. “You’re obviously going through something. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, but please stay. At least until you’ve calmed down.”

“I’m sorry, but no.”

I’m sorry?! Did he just tell the rebel that he was sorry? And mean it? Armitage pushed past him, actually feeling bad for clipping his shoulder as he bolted out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Armitage spent the rest of the afternoon in the health club at his hotel working out the unpleasantness crawling inside his skin. He felt dirty. Foolish. Weak. Everything that his shit of a father had always insisted he was. Armitage had dedicated his life to weeding these soft emotions out of his head. To strive for absolute control. To never allow his judgement to be compromised by feeling or sympathy. To not need any nonsense, mushy feelings like love or companionship. Sure, he had been close to Rae, but they both understood the nature of the game. In any case, she was gone now. He was the highest ranking officer in the First Order, and, one day, he would become Supreme Leader. The domination of the entire galaxy was in his grasp. He could taste it on his tongue. No one would ever control his fate again. 

The impact of the punching bag on his fist radiated up his arm. He paused, breath gasping in his chest. Sweat dripped off his face. He pushed his hair off his forehead. It stuck to his scalp, soaked and oily. His muscles screamed with exertion, strung out and sore. He needed a rest. But every time he stopped, he saw _him_. The rebel. The virus invading his system. His smile. His hand on Armitage’s arm. His gentle caresses to soothe Armitage’s distress. Kindness. What was Armitage supposed to do with kindness? 

He had been afraid. And comforted. Vulnerable, yet at peace. 

Vulnerability was unacceptable. Fear was only to be instilled in others, not in oneself. He drew up the necessary scenario again, which he had been playing in his head for the past hour. Poe piloting his X-wing into a battle with the _Finalizer_. One of the _Finalizer’s_ cannons blasting him to pieces. 

Armitage’s gut clenched. He tilted on the mat, taking a few frantic steps before collapsing on a bench. His head dropped into his hands, chest heaving, bile hitting his tongue. 

Poe was a New Republic Navy pilot. The First Order was going to eliminate the New Republic, pilots and all. He would never turn, not with his ancestry and idealism. Sooner or later, Poe would die by their hands. Probably Armitage’s hands. He would be in charge of Starkiller Base when it finally became operational. The thought of Poe’s imminent death should not be making Armitage almost throw up in public. 

Fuck, if he were one of his stormtroopers, he’d send himself to reconditioning. 

_“It’s okay. Whatever it is. I’ve got you.”_

Stupid man. Making promises to a near stranger just because they’d had a pleasant conversation and shared a tragic history. 

The memory of Poe’s scent wafted across his memory. If he closed his eyes and focused, Armitage could practically feel Poe’s skin on his lips, the firmness of his waist around his arm, Poe’s hands rubbing his back. Holding him. Caring for him.

If Armitage refused to return to Poe, would anyone ever hold him again? 

Pushing himself to his feet, Armitage strode out of the gym and to his room, where he showered Poe’s scent off his skin. He dressed in a comfortable robe and brewed himself a cup of Tarine tea. The bitter tang soothed him, clearing his head. He sat down at the table with his datapad and searched every record he could find of Captain Poe Dameron. 

Poe had been raised on Yavin 4, the site of a rebel base, no less. Son to Lieutenant Shara Bey and Sergeant Kes Dameron, both sharing several commendations between them. They had mustered out soon after the Battle of Endor to become ranchers. So Poe had grown up on a ranch. How quaint. Poe had attended the naval academy in Hosnian Prime, and had quickly joined the piloting track. After graduating, he had risen quickly through the ranks, earning a couple of commendations himself. The navy had even chosen him as their poster boy for a recruitment campaign. An excellent choice, too. Armitage lingered on a particular shot of Poe in an orange flight suit standing on the rungs to get to the cockpit of a blue-white X-wing, his right arm holding the ship while he folded the left at his hip. He stared to his left in determination, wind sweeping his hair off his forehead, confident posture brimming with brash charisma. A dashing hero for these Republic saps to emulate. 

Armitage’s finger hovered over the image for longer than he’d meant to before he swiped it away and returned to Poe’s record. A few brushes with insubordination. Poe wasn’t the type to keep his mouth shut and do what he was told, it seemed. That sort of officer could either be an irritating hindrance or an immense boon, depending on the circumstance. And the officer. But Poe had a stellar flight record, which likely forgave many impasses. Many called him the best pilot in the navy. He would give the First Order problems if he wasn’t dealt with quickly. 

Armitage should have been paying attention to the New Republic roster. Poe would have jumped out at him immediately. As soon as Armitage had seen him in the pub, he would have lured him outside, found an empty corner, and opened his gut with the knife tucked in his jacket sleeve. Poe wouldn’t have had time to seduce him with his charming smile and sickening sympathy.

Armitage could still eliminate this threat. He knew where Poe lived. It was evening. Poe might be home. And, if he wasn’t, Armitage could break in and wait for him. Attack him from the shadows before he suspected that Armitage was even there. Then there would be no question of Armitage falling for his charms again, because Poe would be gone. It was the perfect solution. 

Armitage got dressed. He checked that his knife was secure and ready to be deployed in a moment. Then he got into his rented speeder, plotting a course for Poe’s apartment building. A light was lit at Poe’s window as he flew over. Perfect. He parked the speeder, took the turbolift up to Poe’s floor, and walked to his front door, his chin high, back straight, face carefully modulated to look suitably regretful, yet not to the point of sappiness. 

Poe gaped at him in shock when he opened the door. Armitage concentrated on how short he was, and how easy it would be to crush him, not on the loveliness of the smile he regaled him with.

“Armitage. I’m so glad to see you. I thought I wouldn’t see you again. Please, come in.”

Relief practically burst from Poe, curling Armitage’s name into a joyful laugh. Poe scurried back, arm outstretched to invite him in, desperate for Armitage not to leave again. 

Did anyone who knew who Armitage really was actually want him to remain in their presence for any amount of time? Other than to get something out of him?

 _Stop!_ , he ordered himself. He was here to kill Poe, not let his head be turned by a pretty face. 

“I apologize for my abrupt exit earlier,” he said, sounding suitably contrite. “It was rude of me.”

“No, please don’t apologize. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed. I won’t ask what it was about. It’s none of my business. We just met. But, well… I was worried. You seemed very upset. I just hope you’re okay.”

Armitage’s pre-scripted response dried on his tongue. He stared at Poe, at a loss for words. He had been worried. For him. It wasn’t a lie. Poe’s delivery had been too rushed and eager and _heartfelt_ to be a lie. His gaze was open and expectant, hoping that Armitage would confirm that he wasn’t about to fall to pieces, or, if he was, that Poe could help him. Armitage tried to find an ulterior motive, but he saw none. Armitage’s attractiveness? And it must be hard to find someone not interested in sex. But that wasn’t enough. Not for this level of concern and… kindness. 

_Be kind to the other children, Armie_

His mother’s voice flashed in his mind. She had told him that. He was sure he hadn’t imagined it. But it had never done him any good. The other kids at the academy distrusted him for who his father was, and kindness had no place in the Empire or the First Order. The concept was alien, useful only as a deceit to coax others to do what you wanted. 

“Can I get a glass of water, please?” he asked.

“Sure,” Poe said, eyes still soft. Still kind. 

As he turned to go to the kitchen, Armitage dropped the knife into his palm, following in Poe’s footsteps. Now, as his back was turned. One quick jab between his shoulder blades. Poe would gasp instead of scream as his breath left his lungs. He would try to fight, but Armitage would twist the blade to maximize the pain and overpower him with his superior height. If Poe took too long to die, Armitage would slash his throat.

Poe began pouring the water into a glass. Armitage raised the knife, inches from Poe. 

His stomach rolled again. 

Poe’s hands had felt like a welcome home.

_”I’ve got you.”_

Armitage had reached desperately for him, a starving man.

No one would ever touch him like that, and he needed it. _Needed_ it. He had thought himself happy in his dead father’s purloined chambers, in his marching uniform, and solitary evenings with a datapad and Tarine tea, in his quest to dominate instead of being dominated, but he wasn’t. 

He wasn’t. He was satisfied. Gleeful. Victorious. But not happy. Something was missing. Something had always been missing, a ghost in the shadows begging to be seen, to be acknowledged, screaming, but he plugged up his ears, closing his eyes, unwilling to recognize it yanking at his ankle, making every victory just a little bit hollow. 

He shoved the knife back in his sleeve.

“Here you go,” Poe said, turning to hand Armitage the glass. 

“Thank you.”

Armitage took a long swallow.

 _You’ll have to kill him eventually_ , sneered the reasonable side of Armitage’s mind. _Directly or not._

He would table that problem for later. After he got his satisfaction from Poe, he could discard him. Yes, this infatuation would fade eventually. It was just a temporary lapse. An itch that must be scratched, but would eventually disappear. 

“I am alright,” Armitage said. “I’m not sure what happened. Certain emotions came up.”

“Okay. Was it the way I was holding you?”

Was he really telling his secrets to this man? Well, he had tried leaving, but that had gone so splendidly. 

“I’m not accustomed to being held.”

Poe frowned at that.

“You didn’t like it? I got the impression that you did.”

“I did like it. But it’s not a common experience for me.”

He downed the rest of the glass, placing it on the counter so that he could fold his hands behind his back in his usual pose. Much better. 

“It sounds like you might have been a little touch starved.”

Armitage frowned.

“Touch starved?”

“If you like being touched by someone and it’s been a long time since someone has, you can get a little twitchy. Lonely. You were clinging to me pretty hard. Can I ask when was the last time you held someone?”

“Two years ago when I had sex, and I realized I hated it.”

“Oh.” Poe’s brow rose. “Not a great experience, then? How about before then?”

An honest answer would make him look ridiculous. But what did it matter? Poe could hardly divulge his secrets, not knowing who he was, and Armitage could just kill him, anyway. 

His stomach did a little flip. He ignored it. 

“I had an aunt of sorts who watched out for me. Our relationship wasn’t very physically affectionate, not since I was a child, but we did hug on occasion. She died six years ago. But my mother was the only person who ever held me with any regularity.”

There it was. Shock and horror on Poe’s face over the poor man who’d been deprived of love for so long. 

“But you were six.”

“The environment I grew up in wasn’t touchy-feely. My father…” Armitage’s hands clenched into fists at his back. “Let’s just say he wasn’t the most doting parent.”

Poe somehow managed to frown even more.

“He… ignored you? Or… hit you?”

“I wish he’d ignored me. That would have made my childhood much easier. Although he did need to teach me the family business. He didn’t hit me after I was five. My aunt threatened him to stop that. Very effectively. But the contemptuous looks… The snide remarks. The eternal disappointment in me no matter what I did, no matter how skillfully I mastered his craft. I was always too scrawny. Too soft. Too weak.”

Too much like mother. 

“You know that’s not true, right?” Poe said, taking a step closer into Armitage’s space, looking so earnestly into his eyes. “You’re not soft or weak. Your father should never have treated you that way.”

“I know. He was the weak one. A mountain of inadequacies. He should have never been allowed near children. He didn’t plan of having me at all. Never wanted me. I wasn’t his wife’s son. He had me with one of the cooks of his company. But we were stuck with each other. So I tried to make him respect me. For him to acknowledge that I wasn’t useless. I tried to impress him long after I knew I never would.”

So Armitage had killed him. And it had been so satisfying. But he wouldn’t tell Poe that part.

Huh. It felt good to vent all this to someone else. Someone who wouldn’t judge him for still having that odious man’s thorn stuck in his throat even after having been rid of him for ten years.

“But that’s all done now,” Armitage continued. “He died ten years ago.”

“I’m really sorry to hear all that,” Poe said. “That’s a terrible way to grow up. Your reaction earlier makes total sense now.”

“You don’t need to feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you. I’m horrified that you had to go through this. That your father was allowed to treat you like this. I appreciate you telling me. I know I don’t have the right to demand any of your life story.”

“You didn’t. If you really had, I wouldn’t have told you any of it.”

Poe raised his hands, reaching for Armitage’s face.

“Can I?” he asked.

Armitage nodded. He barely held back a gasp as Poe touched him, cradling his face in those warm fingers. His eyes slid shut, both at the sensation and the intensity of Poe’s gaze, head tipping forward. His own hands slid from their hold at his back, hanging at his sides, yearning to grasp Poe’s body, the body he had almost put a knife into.

“I meant what I said before,” Poe said. “I’m here for you. I’ve got you.”

Armitage’s fingers curled at his sides, shaking slightly.

“You’ve barely known me for half a day.”

“Sometimes you just get a feeling about people, you know? And you just told me really personal stuff, so I think you want to give this a shot, too.”

Armitage touched Poe’s waist, barely grazing him with his fingertips.

“What is this, exactly?”

Poe shrugged. 

“I don’t know. A connection . Something. It might fizzle into nothing. Maybe you’ll be sick of me by tomorrow.”

That was the plan.

“Or you of me.”

If Poe was looking for a relationship, he couldn’t have sought a worse place to find it. But Poe’s potential horror about who he was getting in bed with was irrelevant. Armitage gripped Poe’s waist, pulling him flush against him. He sank his face into Poe’s curls, inhaling the fresh scent of shampoo. He must have showered while Armitage was out. 

“You’re the perfect height for me to tuck my head under your chin,” Poe said.

Armitage trembled as Poe’s breath gusted on his bare throat. The curve of an eyelid soon followed as Poe nuzzled his neck, resting on him as if Armitage were a safe harbor. 

“I have noticed how small you are,” Armitage said.

Poe poked his ribs.

“Hey. I’m a respectable height for my people. You’re just absurdly tall.”

“A rejoinder that suggests that you are in fact jealous of my glorious height. Do you have a stepping stool you can stand on?”

Snorting, Poe stepped back, grabbing Armitage’s hands at his back.

“I comfort you and I get insulted for my trouble?” he asked, but with a teasing smile. 

“I’m all sharp edges. You should know that about me before you get attached.”

Mischievousness glinted in Poe’s eyes. Taking Armitage’s right hand, he brought it to his mouth and rained tiny kisses along Armitage’s fingertips. Armitage’s breath stuttered as Poe reached the center of his palm, laying a lingering kiss on it like Armitage had earlier placed on his, his eyes closing as he devoted his full attention to Armitage’s hand. He massaged Armitage’s wrist as he did so, rubbing slow circles over the small bone. Armitage wasn’t ready for the earnestness in Poe’s warm eyes as he raised his face enough to say,

“I see plenty of soft curves right here.”

It was a tease, and a plea for Armitage to accept it as truth. Armitage balked at the notion that there was anything soft left in him even as he grasped Poe’s nape with his free hand,, asking if Poe minded if he dipped his hand into his shirt, fingers dancing at the top of Poe’s spine. 

“I don’t mind taking it off,” Poe said. 

Armitage pulled him towards the bedroom. He’d wrestle with rebuilding the iron façade of his composure later. Right now, he had far more enjoyable things to do.

````````````````

Armitage blinked his eyes open to warm sunlight. He frowned. This wasn’t his hotel room. On his guard, he took stock of his surroundings as he lied still on the bed. And the bed’s other occupant. Oh. He’d fallen asleep on Poe’s bed. That hadn’t been his intention. Although, since none of this sappy exchange of feelings and letting his guard down so thoroughly that he’d allowed himself to be unconscious beside someone else had been intentional, perhaps he should quit being so fixated on planning any of this out. He and Poe had cuddled for about an hour, although he couldn’t be sure. Armitage had rubbed his hands over the full expanse of Poe’s bare torso, then he’d laid his head down on a pillow while Poe stroked his back. Soothing. Always so soothing. Did he expect Armitage to break down again? Well, Armitage had hardly given him reason to think otherwise with his shameful displays of emotion.

Poe was still asleep, lying on his back, the thick, cerulean blanket pulled up to mid-chest. His left arm rested atop the blanket, while his right was tucked beneath it. His chest rose softly with each breath, breaths that Armitage had allowed him to take by not following through on his plan last night. On said chest lied a brushed steel band on a slim chain, also steel. His mother’s wedding ring. For a moment, Armitage indulged his own frequent regret at not possessing anything from his own mother, then brushed the thought aside.

Poe looked beautiful like this. Well, the man looked obnoxiously gorgeous no matter what he was doing or what expression he had on his face. Even now, with Poe’s face slack in sleep, Armitage saw that pretty smile and his distress as Armitage confessed his less than desirable backstory, so concerned for him, his desire to comfort Armitage so disconcertingly genuine. 

If Armitage revealed his true identity to him, that concern would evaporate. The softness in his eyes would turn to steel. His hand would reach for a blaster instead of the touch of Armitage’s hair. That would make dispatching Poe easier. If Poe regarded him with hate and disgust instead of nascent affection. Armitage raised his left hand, holding it over Poe’s head. If he touched those brown curls, Poe might wake. Why didn’t Armitage want that to happen? Why was he concerned about Poe getting sufficient sleep? 

He lowered his hand, looking at his clothed chest. Only Poe had bared his torso last night. He hadn’t asked Armitage to remove the t-shirt he wore under his dress shirt, nor had Armitage offered, even as he wondered if Poe found the uneven amount of dress unfair. Armitage rarely allowed anyone to see his naked torso. A childhood insecurity. One of the many shortcomings that he couldn’t seem to shake. 

_Sixteen years old and still as scrawny as a starved rat. A stiff breeze could tip you over._

Armitage had already made regular visits to the gym of the _Absolution_ to be able to hold his own in a fight, but after that comment, he’d doubled his efforts. They continued until this day, yet Armitage had only managed to build the leanest muscle mass. The stronger build that he trained into his stormtroopers would always be beyond him. Especially now that he was so busy with running an army. He barely managed to stop by the gym three times a week. Poe himself wasn’t rippling with muscle, but his chest looked far more appealing than Armitage’s own. 

He, General Hux, had been too embarrassed to remove his shirt before a Republic pilot. 

Sneering at his own ridiculousness, Armitage got up slowly, making sure to jostle the mattress as little as possible, and went to the refresher. When he came back, Poe had shifted onto his right side, his back to what was currently Armitage’s side of the bed. The blanket had slipped to his waist, revealing the full expanse of his back. A back that Armitage had kissed and stroked mere hours earlier. 

There was a particular activity that Armitage had always wanted to indulge in. He’d wished to last night, but it seemed that he’d fallen asleep, instead. No time like the present, like they say. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, Armitage pulled it over his head. He glanced down at his chest as he folded the shirt and placed it on the side table. _Still too thin._ He straightened his spine, shoving the thought away. Ten years dead, and yet the old bastard still made it impossible for Armitage to be comfortable in his own skin. Poe wouldn’t mind his slenderness. It was obvious enough while Armitage had his clothes on. 

Gently, he got back into bed, slipping under the blanket as he scooched toward Poe. He pressed his face to Poe’s right shoulder blade, encircling his waist with his left arm, and closed his eyes. Poe’s skin rubbed softly against him as he breathed, the slight tang of sweat oddly alluring to Armitage’s senses. Poe moved his arm, taking Armitage’s hand. Damn.

“I apologize for waking you,” Armitage said, no longer feeling strange for being sorry. 

“It’s fine. It’s a nice way to wake up.”

Poe’s sleepily thick voice shouldn’t be so enticing, either. He curled his fingers slightly on Armitage’s, then lied still. Armitage shifted his legs a little closer to his, pressing his knees against Poe’s calves. 

“Are you leaving soon or are you staying?” Poe asked. “I was thinking we could have breakfast. Not right now. Later.”

Breaking bread with the enemy. Hardly worthy of concern after sleeping with one. Since he clearly didn’t care about what he should do with Poe, he’d just turn off that nagging voice of reason and do whatever he wanted with him. 

“I like the sound of that,” he replied, rubbing his nose on Poe’s skin.

“Great.”

Silence descended between them, the only sounds the whoosh of speeders outside. Armitage hadn’t felt this comfortable since…

When had he been this comfortable? When he got a new bed moved into his chambers? When he remodeled his father’s old suite on the _Absolution_ in his own image? Surely at some point with his mother. 

How come every time he thought about when he’d been truly happy, his age was still in the single digits?

He was tensing up. He threw the thought away, focusing on Poe’s heartbeat. A heartbeat he was very glad not to have stopped last night. The pace of Armitage’s breathing lengthened as his body relaxed to that gentle rhythm. 

He drifted off, for next thing he knew, Poe was shaking him awake.

“Hey,” he said, smiling, as Armitage opened his eyes. “Breakfast is ready.”

Armitage hummed in response. He got up, stretching out his limbs as he did every morning. He didn’t even think about it until he caught Poe smiling at him, gazing down Armitage’s arms and torso. Insecurity needled at Armitage, but everything in Poe’s smile indicated that he liked what he saw. 

“You look like a cat,” Poe said.

Armitage frowned.

“Is that an insult or a compliment?”

“A compliment. You remind me of these jungle cats we have at home. Lean and fast. Their fur is a pale, reddish-yellow, too.”

A lean, jungle cat. Not a scrawny rat or a slip of paper. Armitage smiled. 

“I like the comparison,” he said, reaching for Poe to nuzzle the side of his face.

Poe encircled his back for a moment before grabbing Armitage’s hands, tugging them down. 

“Let’s not start that,” he said. “The food will get cold.”

Armitage’s stomach compressed painfully at the mention of food. Yes, he supposed nourishment was slightly more important than touching Poe. 

The yummy aroma of the breakfast Poe had prepared hit Armitage’s nose as soon as he left the bedroom. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, beans, thinly sliced pieces of ham, and avocado. 

“It smells delicious,” Armitage said, sitting down at the circular table.

“Thanks. I hope you like it. Do you want some caf? Or I have juice.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any tea, would you?”

Poe’s face fell a little. 

“I’m afraid not. I’m not much of a tea drinker.”

“That’s alright. I’ll have the juice, please.”

“I’m guessing you’re not a caf drinker, huh?” 

“Not particularly, no.”

Except for one infuriating instance when the _Finalizer_ had run out of Tarine tea through a datawork error, and he’d had to make do with caf for two days before they could acquire more from the _Absolution_. From then on, the greenhouse in the _Supremacy_ had doubled its amount of Tarine plots, and it, along with the _Finalizer_ and the _Absolution_ , all carried enough tea to last a year. 

Poe returned from the kitchen with a glass of juice and a cup of caf for himself. The juice was a dark, orange color. There was orange in it, with other juices mixed in. 

“Is this mango with orange?” Armitage asked.

“And koyo.”

So that was the taste he couldn’t identify.

“I’ve never had koyo.”

“We grow it back home. I grew up eating it every day. I couldn’t get enough of it.”

“Where is home?” Armitage asked as they began serving themselves, pretending that he had no idea that Poe came from a rebel base. 

“Yavin 4. We moved there when I was two. You’ve probably heard of the colony they built there after Endor.”

Armitage nodded. 

“How about you?” Poe continued. “Where are you from?”

“Arkanis.” And the _Absolution_ after that. But he couldn’t mention that part. “But I spent most of my life after my mother died on my father’s freighter. I had no other relatives that he could leave me with and he insisted that I learn the trade as soon as possible.” It had actually been Admiral Sloane who insisted, but that was another detail that Poe must never know. “He hired private tutors for me, so the rest of my education was hardly lacking.”

“That sounds lonely.”

“On the contrary. I was constantly surrounded by people.”

Poe looked like he wanted to argue the point, to say that you could be in the same room with a hundred people and still feel alone, or perhaps those were simply Armitage’s own thoughts, for he had experienced that stifling contradiction much too often. 

“I don’t wish to begin our breakfast on a sour note,” Armitage said. “Will you tell me about your own upbringing? I’m sure it was more cheerful than mine despite our shared tragedy.”

“Sure.”

Armitage’s presumption had been correct. Poe had led a charmed life before his mother died, chasing whisper birds, climbing an Uneti tree that his mother had gotten from Luke Skywalker, no less, learning to fly his mother’s A-wing, having friends. He smiled as he spoke, hands constantly moving as he regaled Armitage with stories that he would have been most envious of as a child. Poe’s enthusiasm only dampened when he got to the part of his mother’s death, but he didn’t brush over it. He spoke of the illness that took her, as well as the long years of mourning that followed, head turned down, barely touching the egg on his plate, hands fidgeting on his mug of caf. Chewing thoughtfully on his pancakes, Armitage regretted not telling him the full truth about his own mother’s death. Well, as much of a truth as he could give. But now wasn’t the time. He didn’t want Poe to feel that he was pushing his own unfortunate past on him as being worse than his own. This bizarre urge to be careful with Poe’s feelings didn’t even feel strange anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

They exchanged contact information. Armitage was really glad now that he’d decided to acquire a non-First Order affiliated comlink for his journey to Hosnian Prime. Which would only be for another week, sadly, as he’d informed Poe at the pub yesterday. When he broached the subject of his limited stay again, Poe shrugged, saying, “We’ll see how we feel at the end of the week.”

In the meantime, they already had a date to see each other again the next day for the Equinox Day celebrations, a Hosnian Prime tradition. Sunsail races would follow the course of the river at the edge of the city, preceded by an air show, courtesy of the New Republic Navy. Armitage had already reserved a pavilion to sneer at the flying X-wings (and he enjoyed races no matter what planet they were on), yet now sneering was the last thing on his mind, as Poe was one of the pilots he’d be viewing. Poe also accepted his offer to stop by his pavilion afterward. He had already agreed to view the races with his fellow pilots, but he’d manage to get away for a bit. 

“Thank you for breakfast,” Armitage said as he stood by Poe’s front door. “And… everything else.”

“Of course.”

Armitage reached for him, stroking Poe’s jaw and neck. Poe did the same. He tugged Armitage’s face down to his, pressing their foreheads together and closing his eyes. Armitage followed his example, resting for a moment, letting the pace of his breathing match Poe’s. That kneejerk urge to release Poe and flee had gone, leaving only want and a peace more satisfying than a thousand cups of Tarine tea. 

It was with regret that he raised his head and released Poe. But he wouldn’t be denied for long. If the next day went well (and there was no indication that it wouldn’t), they’d end up right back here after the celebrations, and Armitage could touch his fill again. 

```````````````````````

Equinox Day awoke without a single cloud in the sky. Armitage glared at the unbroken stretch of blue outside his hotel window as he slapped sunscreen on his face. He hated laying on the cloying substance, but, as much shade as he would be in at the pavilion he’d reserved, he couldn’t risk Poe finding him burnt pink. He’d dressed in his best, civilian suit, a rich blue ensemble with a black cloak and matte black boots. A chilly breeze cooled the air despite the sun, so at least he wouldn’t overheat, unlike at other sunny climes he’d had the discomfort of being in. 

At the celebration grounds, verdigris pavilions stretched out along the water’s edge. Where the pavilions stopped, the mass of the city’s population gathered on blankets laid out on the grass as droids whizzed around them bringing food and refreshment. Unlike every other pavilion, Armitage enjoyed his alone for now. Every senator that the First Order had in their pocket had invited him to their own pavilion, practically falling over each other in their desperation to have General Hux grace them with his presence. Pathetic. They were nothing but bloated parasites, more obsessed with money and their own self-importance than the well-being of the worlds they claimed to represent. Now, Armitage himself was well-versed in the power that an impressive appearance conveyed, and he had amassed a considerable, private fund through back channels in the First Order. But unlike these petty dilettantes who only played at exercising influence, Armitage’s trappings were backed by steel.

Therefore, he had politely, yet pointedly, expressed his desire to enjoy the festivities with his own company, ensuring that none of them would be so foolish as to try to visit him in his own pavilion, either. As an extra measure to ensure his privacy, he’d also reserved a pavilion at the unfashionable edge right beside the blanket picnics. He was doubly glad that he’s made these arrangements now, for eyebrows would have been raised if a senator witnessed a navy pilot slipping into his pavilion, and their lot did love to gossip. Although, incompetent as they were, their own star pilot might pass under their noses and they wouldn’t bat an eye. 

A luxurious, culinary spread was served as soon as he arrived, but apart from munching on some grapes, Armitage left the rest untouched. Poe would likely be hungry after the show. While Armitage had never focused much on piloting, the strain had always left him famished. So he would wait for Poe to join him to eat. Since he’d arrived half an hour early to make sure that he didn’t miss Poe’s maneuvers, he’d brought his datapad with him to get some work done. With every rank he’d ascended, he’d thought that the datawork couldn’t get worse. He’d been wrong. Those officers old enough to have served under the Empire swore that the impenetrable layers of bureaucratic datawork had actually been streamlined since then for the sake of sanity, but Armitage wasn’t sure he believed them. 

He became so entrenched in requisition forms that he almost missed the announcement that officially commenced the festival. Cursing, he closed his datapad and stood at the front edge of the pavilion, gazing up at the sky just in time to hear the whoosh of starfighters approaching. Poe had shown him a picture of his X-wing yesterday (the same as in his recruitment posters), but from this distance, it was almost impossible to distinguish one X-wing from another save for the slightest color differences. He thought he spotted blue at the front of the formation, but he couldn’t be sure. The crowd cheered as the fighters swooped overhead, breaking off from their initial tight formation to do a series of choreographed pirouettes that must have taken ages to rehearse. So this was what the New Republic Navy did with its time. The rancors at their door couldn’t be more obvious, and yet they wasted their time with this. At least the pilots in Organa’s Resistance dedicated themselves to something useful, even if it was ultimately pointless. 

There! A definite flash of blue-white. A smile grew on Armitage’s face. Even though the navy was wasting Poe’s skills, at least Armitage could admire them in a setting where his forces wouldn’t be shooting at him. 

The smile withered. Trepidation chilled the back of his neck. His gaze faltered, dropping to the cold water before him, hands clenching as he folded them behind him. 

He snapped his face up the next moment, but it was too late. He’d already lost Poe. 

`````````````````````

“Hey, you,” Poe said an hour and a half later, poking his head through the back slit of the pavilion canvas. 

Returning his smile, Armitage got up to greet him. Poe was wearing the same tan jacket as he had in the pub, along with a white shirt and dark brown trousers. His hair was damp, clinging a bit to his forehead.

“Hello,” he said, cradling Poe’s face, calming the tension in his spine with Poe’s warm, living skin. “You were magnificent.”

Poe placed a kiss on his cheek, squeezing Armitage’s nape.

“I’m not here for flattery,” he said, “but I’ll take it. Could you even tell which one was me?”

“For a moment. But then I lost track of you again.”

He instinctively held Poe closer, slipping his hands through Poe’s wet hair. 

“I had to take a shower,” Poe said. “You don’t want to be around me right after I get out of an X-wing.”

“I’ve smelled my fair share of pilots, so I very much appreciate the courtesy. Are you hungry?” 

Armitage gestured at the table behind him. 

“Starved.”

“Good. I’ve been waiting for you to get here to eat, and I’ve been regretting that decision this past half hour.”

“You didn’t need to wait for me.”

“I wanted to.”

Poe grabbed Armitage’s left hand at his nape, squeezing it before making his way to the table. They quickly filled their plates with food. As they ate, the sunsail races began. The light vessels skimmed a few feet above the water, big, white sails buoying them up by converting the sun’s heat into energy. They consisted of a thin, square base with seats for two passengers, a low windscreen that would barely block any wind, and two sets of long, narrow sails, one shorter than the other, running parallel to the sides of the vessel. Having no engine, they were the closest that current technology got to imitating the boats that once raced on this river. They were designed solely for leisure and the thrill of the chase, with no practical purpose, and yet cost a million credits each. Armitage would rather spend that money on an SF TIE Fighter, but he could see the appeal. 

“Have you ever tried your hand at a sunsail?” Armitage asked.

“I’d love to, but do you know how much one of those costs? I could fly one, though.”

“How can you be so sure if you’ve never tried it? It’s more like flying an ancient boat than a starfighter. Or any vessel with an engine.”

“I can fly anything.”

Armitage raised a brow at Poe’s cocky certainty.

“Can you?”

A slow grin grew on Poe’s face, filling his eyes with amusement at Armitage doubting his expertise.

“Alright. I can’t one hundred percent guarantee it since I haven’t actually flown every vessel out there, but every one I have, I’ve flown perfectly. Starfighters. Shuttles. Freighters. Speeders. Cruisers. So yeah. I’m sure I can handle a sunsail, engine or no engine.”

Poe’s absolute confidence in his abilities came off as charming instead of pompous. Having been accused of arrogance himself his entire, adult life, Armitage hardly found fault with it in others as long as it was merited. And he wouldn’t even call Poe arrogant for acknowledging his self-worth. Others would, certainly, but Armitage found it immensely appealing.

“Is this why they call you the best pilot in the navy?”

Poe ducked his eyes for a second, his show of humility, although his grin remained.

“You’ve heard that, have you?”

“Are you denying it?”

“I’m not denying that people say it. But I haven’t seen every other pilot in the navy fly, so I can’t tell you for sure.”

Armitage chuckled.

“Dear me. Have I tarnished your confidence with my request for thoroughness?”

“No. I know I’m the best. But others are the best, too. I know I’m just one guy up there. I’m not even wing commander yet. And I trust everyone do their job well. But I believe in my skills. I can get the job done, every time. Some say I’m too foolhardy and conceited with some of the stunts I pull off, but I know I can do it, and I always do.”

“You’re not conceited at all. You know who you are. What you’re capable of. It would only be conceit if you were deluding yourself and couldn’t actually do those things. I run the finest shipping company in the Outer Rim. I know it, as do the competitors I’ve been driving out of business for years. I don’t make a show of my success, but I don’t hide what I have achieved.”

Well, perhaps he did make a bit of a show. But a touch of modesty would strike a better tone with Poe. The pleased expression on Poe’s face indicated that his instinct had been right.

“Yeah. That’s exactly it.”

```````````````````

Poe ended up staying with Armitage for the remainder of the festival.

“When I told my friends I had a date,” Poe said, “they threatened to shoot me if I came back.”

How considerate of them. So Armitage got to have Poe all to himself for another day. They watched the races avidly, commenting on and sometimes disagreeing on who was more likely to win, although Armitage admitted that he must concede piloting expertise to Poe. They even made a few harmless wages, the spoils of which would be given in massages back at Poe’s apartment. Armitage only won one. 

_Truly, such a hardship_ , he thought as he stroked Poe’s back later. He had no idea what he was doing, but Poe just told him to rub, providing pressure, but not too much. As he perched atop Poe’s thighs, Armitage dug the heels of his hands up and down his back, kneading his muscles with his fingers, trying not to pinch. Poe’s skin was so soft. So smooth. Halfway through the massage, Armitage couldn’t help dipping his head forward and nuzzling his spine, breathing in the fresh scent of soap and that ineffable quality that was unmistakably Poe. Poe smiled into the pillow, leaning just so against Armitage’s face. When Armitage was done, Poe returned the favor, soothing parts of him that he’d never known existed, melting away every nerve, every bit of tension until Armitage felt himself floating on air, guided by the steady balm of Poe’s hands. 

When his mind drifted between the lands of dream and consciousness, Poe sat down beside him by the headboard, taking Armitage’s right hand.

“You only owed me one massage,” Armitage said, voice low with somnolence as Poe kneaded his palm with his thumbs.

“I’m conceding my winnings to you.”

Poe had no right to look as delectable as he did, dark curls hanging across his forehead, beautiful eyes warm with affection.

“You can pay me back the rest of the week,” Poe said, kissing Armitage’s fingertips. 

And so he did. Between Poe’s military duties and Armitage’s meetings, they had very little time together in the evenings, but they made the most of it. Armitage didn’t sleep in his suite for the rest of his stay, taking advantage of Poe’s insistence that he remain with him until the sun came up. He needed to rise early with him, Poe’s trust wisely not extending to leaving Armitage alone in his apartment, but a similar military protocol ruled Armitage’s own life. During the last two days, Armitage had nothing to do but amuse himself with whatever random entertainment Hosnian Prime offered until Poe messaged him to come over. In truth, his work here was finished. He only remained to see Poe for a little bit longer.

The week was over. A week that truly captured the essence of the word “unexpected.” He and Poe lied in bed together, Armitage on his back, Poe on his left side, head cushioned on Armitage’s chest. His right hand held Armitage’s left. Armitage stroked his hair, his movements languid, already regretful that he wouldn’t be able to repeat this pleasure tomorrow night. They hadn’t spoken yet about whether this relationship would continue after Armitage left. The question hung on Armitage’s tongue, fearful. 

He took a breath, steeling himself to ask, but Poe beat him to it.

“I guess it’s decision time,” he said. He shifted onto his back to meet Armitage’s eyes, gaze softly questioning. “Do you want to continue this after you leave tomorrow?”

Armitage wasn’t mistaken in detecting a quiet plea for him to say yes, was he? 

“I do. Very much so.”

A beautiful grin lit up Poe’s face. Armitage returned it, relief cascading through him. 

“Thank God. I mean, I though you would say yes, but I couldn’t be sure, you know?”

“I was nervous, too. I’ve never…” He held Poe’s face, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. “I’ve never had this before.”

Poe took his left hand, kissing his palm. 

“You have it now. Although it’s going to be long distance, which is annoying, but we knew that going in.”

“It’d be difficult for me to have anything else. I’m constantly moving.”

“Yeah. And I could be transferred any time. I’m waiting for it, actually. There are more exciting posts than Hosnian Prime. Places where I can do more good.”

Yes, leaving this system was exactly what Poe needed to do. That spared Armitage the complication of having to find a way to get him away when the time came. And, as long as the senators he’d met with continued to turn the New Republic’s head away from the First Order, Poe’s “excitement” should be limited to pirates and the like. 

“I hope you do,” Armitage said. “Soon. Your superiors need to recognize how splendid you are.”

Poe shook his head, laughing.

“How many times do I have to tell you that don’t need to butter me up? My ego would be the size of Malastare if I listened to you.”

Armitage showed mock offense at the accusation that he would exaggerate one bit of Poe’s charms. 

And he was right. Five days after Armitage returned to the _Finalizer_ , Poe messaged him with news of the much sought after transfer, plus an extra tidbit to make it sweeter. 

“I got promoted,” Poe said via hologram, a massive grin on his face. “You’re now speaking to Commander Poe Dameron of Rapier Squadron.”

Armitage smiled just as widely. He sat on the couch in his chambers. He’d performed an extra thorough sweep of his rooms for bugs as soon as he arrived, and always had a change of civilian clothing on hand for when Poe called. 

“Many congratulations, Rapier One. I’m very happy for you. I wish I could give you a hug to celebrate.”

“God, me, too.”

Armitage missed Poe’s touch like air in his lungs. How had he survived so long without this? 

“Which base are they sending you to?” he asked.

“Mirrin Prime. Patrolling the trade lanes, no doubt.”

“Keeping the Republic safe from pirates. There’s the excitement you were looking for.”

As soon as he finished speaking to Poe, Armitage would check the Mirrin sector to see if the First Order had any concerns in the area. If it did, he’d redirect them. 

A droid beeped off camera. Poe turned to look at it.

“Oh, yeah. BB-8’s here. They want to meet you.”

BB-8 was Poe’s astromech, although it was clear from the way that Poe spoke of them that they were more than that. They were friends. Poe had even shown him a picture of him and BB-8 standing next to his X-wing. The First Order treated its droids like the machines they were, and not as sentient beings, not even highly sophisticated ones like astromechs and protocol droids. Armitage had never been quite on board with this policy. Deeseven, a protocol droid, had kept him company throughout his first years in what was still officially the Empire. It had been the closest he’d had to a friend other than Rae. But his father had gotten rid of it when he was fifteen, wiping its memory and repurposing it for another ship. Another nail in the old man’s much deserved coffin. Now Armitage had Kayfour, his father’s old protocol droid. He’d kept the droid’s memory, and accompanied his commands with “please” and “thank you”. Their programming may ensure Kayfour's well-mannered compliance, but he was certain that they liked him better than his father. Kayfour even brought him those little chocolates that he liked without needing to be asked. 

On the holo message, BB-8 rolled into view beside Poe, who crouched down next to them. 

_Hello,_ they said. _It’s nice to meet you. Poe talks a lot about you._

“It’s nice to meet you, too. Poe says you’re the best astromech he’s ever worked with.”

BB-8 swiveled slightly, as if taken aback by the compliment.

_I’m only doing my job. Which is hard, because Poe keeps doing crazy things and he has a thick head._

Armitage snorted.

“Alright, alright, enough about that,” Poe said, putting his hands on BB-8, but the droid only turned to Armitage again.

_Tell him to listen to reason. He might pay attention to you. He likes you a lot._

“I do listen to reason. When I need to.”

“I don’t know, Poe. You have told me about some harebrained schemes. Perhaps BB-8 does have a point.”

Poe narrowed his eyes at both of them. 

“You two just met and you’re already ganging up on me? Okay, BB-8. You wanted to meet Armitage. You’ve met him. Would you mind leaving us alone to talk, buddy?”

BB-8 turned to Armitage.

_Good-bye. I hope to see you again soon._

“Good-bye, BB-8. I’m afraid I can’t make any promises about being able to reason with Poe.”

“Hey.”

BB-8 left the cam range. 

“I’m only teasing,” Armitage said, smiling broadly.

“Yeah, I know.”

 _I was joking, too,_ BB-8 beeped off camera. 

“You I’m not so sure of,” Poe called after the droid. 

Armitage laughed.

“I like your droid. They have spunk.”

_Thank you._

Poe frowned to the side again. BB-8 chirped an apology beep.

“They’re in the bedroom now,” Poe said. “Anyway, that’s not how I envisioned that going.”

“I think its sweet how they worry about you. And it’s nice to hear how much you like me.”

Poe smiled again at that

“Well, that was already obvious, wasn’t it?”

“Quite. But confirmation from a friend is still exciting.”

They held each other’s gazes for a long moment. Oh, how Armitage yearned to reach out, to demonstrate his affection with his hands and lips. 

“Does any of your shipping go through Mirrin sector?” Poe asked.

Endearment pulsed through Armitage even as the necessity for the lie left an acrid taste in his tongue.

“Not currently.”

“Damn. I was hoping to be all gallant in safeguarding it for you.”

“How chivalrous of you. Perhaps I’ll reroute a shipment just to give you the chance.”

Poe laughed softly.


	4. Chapter 4

Holo messages made up the entirety of their interactions for the next month. After his “extended vacation”, as Supreme Leader Snoke called it, to Hosnian Prime, Armitage couldn’t get away again so quickly without risking him becoming interested in the full nature of his trips. Armitage and Poe didn’t quite manage to communicate every day with their often contradicting schedules. Sometimes they spoke for an hour. Other times, they could only scrimp together five minutes. 

Every time Armitage disconnected the feed, he wondered if this would be the last time they spoke. If Poe might find evidence discrediting Armitage’s lie. If Snoke might decide to accelerate their time table and attack the Republic sooner than he’d planned. Neither scenario was likely. Slicers had made sure to scrub every image of Armitage from the feeds, even those of him as a child in Arkanis. He had been furious to miss them at the time, but now he was very glad that he hadn’t attended the signing of the sham treaty with the New Republic. A particularly vicious strain of the flu had laid him low for two days. As he wasn’t yet general, his presence hadn’t been strictly required. This absence had been what allowed him to visit Hosnian Prime in the first place, as the New Republic possessed no images of him. 

So he’d been able to meet Poe. The man who he’d become much too entangled with, but such considerations always faded far away as excitement sparked in his stomach when he made a call and Poe’s blue hologram lit up, always regaling him with a beautiful smile. A happy smile. Guileless. And Armitage felt his own soften, the sharp edges he’d warned Poe about sanded away as they chatted about daily frustrations (highly edited on both sides), watched holovids together, discussed their different tastes in literature (a pursuit that they both decried having such little time for), and played a few games, each matching the other’s moves on their own boards. During the fourth week, they took to reading aloud to each other. It had been Poe’s idea.

“You have such a nice voice,” Poe said. “I feel like I would be lulled to sleep by the sound of it.”

“Oh? Shall I pick a boring book, then?”

Poe laughed.

“Sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

“I know. Thank you. I am touched by the compliment.”

And amused that the son of rebels would enjoy hearing what had once been known as the Imperial accent. Poe returned the favor by reading to him, as well. They picked a Corellian novel, a blatant rip-off of Han Solo’s early life, but it was well-written and Poe’s voice always grew husky with excitement when they reached the dogfight scenes, so they continued it. 

The novel lingered at the back of Armitage’s mind as he stood on the bridge of the _Finalizer_. He’d offer to read first today. The way that Poe sank into his couch as Armitage read, eyes lost somewhere in the distance, every reaction animating his face in subtle ways… It was all so very lovely. 

“General, an X-wing just appeared.”

Armitage looked up from his datapad, frowning at Captain Peavey. 

“An X-wing? By itself?”

“It appears so, sir. It dropped out of hyperspace just off the _Enforcer’s_ bow. Our TIE’s are engaging it right now.”

Putting down the datapad, Armitage strode to the viewport, looking between it and the holographic projection beside him captured by the fleet’s exterior cameras. Indeed, a single X-wing hovered in space right below them. No other contacts appeared on the sensors. No support. What the hell was it doing? Was this an accident? Had its hyperdrive malfunctioned? No, it couldn’t be so simple. That was a Republic T-85. A Republic fighter had found them.

“How did it find us?” Armitage asked, anger flaring in his voice. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“We don’t know, sir. We’re figuring that out now.”

The X-wing charged the TIEs. Was the pilot insane? There were two dozen TIEs shooting at them. They wouldn’t last two seconds. Which would solve their problem nicely, so if the pilot had decided to abandon reason and get themselves killed, that was fine by him. 

But the TIEs didn’t shoot them down immediately. The X-wing corkscrewed, jerking to starboard and looping around to land headfirst in the middle of the TIEs, forcing them to scatter. They came about, many shooting at the X-wing. Armitage’s eyes widened as they did so. Those idiots! They’d just shot themselves down. Two TIEs were hit, while more crashed into each other. Couldn’t they see that this was precisely what the X-wing wanted them to do? 

Wait. That fighter. The insane, yet effective maneuver. The skill it had taken to execute it. Heart squeezing his throat, Armitage peered more closely at the holotank as the X-wing pulled into a displacement roll. All T-85s looked the same save for their coloring, which he couldn’t get a look at in this hologram, but hadn’t it looked green and black when he looked outside? Poe’s new X-wing was green and black. And that astromech… BB-8 was a one of a kind droid. Only model ever made. The only BB unit he’d seen whose head was a perfect half sphere. 

Only a lifetime of training himself to disguise his emotions kept Armitage from gasping.

_Poe._

The _Enforcer_ opened fire. The X-wing jerked, swooping down, a shot glancing off its forward shield. TIEs rushed away, three of them shot down by the frigate.

“Open communications with the _Enforcer_!” Armitage shouted. As soon as the captain’s holo appeared, Armitage ordered him, “Stop firing at once. You’re hitting our own fighters.”

_And Poe. You almost hit Poe._

“Yes, sir,” the captain said.

The frigate had almost hit one of their cruisers before its guns went silent. Poe had slipped under the frigate. It was charging up. Toward the _Finalizer_. Armitage fought the urge to duck before Poe saw him.

“Broadcast to the fleet.”

“Yes, sir.”

“No capital ships are to fire. You’ll tear the fleet apart. Fighters, take it out now!”

His stomach heaved as he spoke, the words tasting like broken glass. His back was stiff, his muscles as tense as a manacle, a perfect mask over his face. His crew would think him merely furious about the X-wing. Not terrified. Not swallowing a scream as the TIEs pummeled the X-wing, barely missing it. Two TIEs flanked Poe now, three more at his flank. Soon, he’d have nowhere to turn. They’d have him. Armitage’s hands clenched at his back. 

Had he just ordered Poe’s death? 

The X-wing’s nose jerked up. It spun around, flying in reverse above the TIEs. Armitage’s eyes widened. Poe opened fire. TIEs went down, crashing against each other. Poe spiraled away. The X-wing stretched, thrusters glowing bright. It jumped into hyperspace. 

Armitage couldn’t release a relieved breath. He couldn’t smile with joy. He had to clench his chin, glare in fury, and demand an explanation for how it was possible for one, little X-wing to get away from an entire First Order fleet, after taking down sixteen TIE fighters.

_He’d gotten away… Poe had gotten away. He was alive. Alive alive alive alive alive…_

No one could give him anything other than weak excuses and groveling apologies. No one would even admit the obvious, what Armitage had already known. Poe was better than them. He was better than every fighter in the First Order, not only the Republic. Armitage had never seen flying like that, not since holos of Darth Vader himself. Armitage had taken Poe’s word and those of his records as proof, but now… He’d never known it was possible to be proud and terrified and angry and happy at the same time. Poe was magnificent. And it was the only reason why he wasn’t dead. 

The _Yissira Zyde_. The freighter carrying high-capacity charging arrays that had been captured earlier. That was how Poe found them. Armitage had been tracking First Order activity in the Mirrin sector, but he couldn’t forbid it all outright. On what pretext? Nor could he order one of his underlings to make him aware of any plans set there. They’d wonder why. These wonderings might become gossip, which might reach ears he didn’t want stirred. So he had to watch out for every proposal himself, and alter it on a case by case basis. But with every other responsibility that required his time, he’d slipped up. A highjacking had gotten past him. 

And Poe had tried to stop it. The crew that had brought in the freighter recognized Poe’s X-wing from their encounter with Republic starfighters, an incident which Armitage was only hearing about now. They couldn’t be one hundred percent certain, but “it must be identical if it isn’t the same one.” And of course it was the same ship. They’d grabbed the freighter on Poe’s patrol route. So Poe had taken the initiative to find it. BB-8 was a clever droid. They must have calculated the ship’s possible hyperspace routes, for nothing else could have landed them here. 

Well. Most of the galaxy was the middle of nowhere. They’d simply relocate the fleet somewhere else. The move was already underway as Armitage explained the events to Snoke, his mind clear, expression suitably apologetic, but without assuming direct responsibility. His body was a perfect façade, showing no more emotion than that required for the occasion. He may not be a force user, but he had trained himself well to avoid his true thoughts being perceived by one. If Armitage played his cards right, Snoke would read his anger at his own lapse as annoyance about a single Republic fighter slipping their grasp, and the trace of fear that Armitage couldn’t quite eradicate as no more than the usual amount he felt when he spoke to Snoke. Thinking of the X-wing as only that, not Poe, not BB-8, Armitage looked Snoke’s holographic image in the eyes, and hid the most vital truth. 

Snoke let him go. He wasn’t even put out by the attack. “One pilot isn’t a threat to us,” he said, dismissing him. After making sure that he wasn’t needed for the next hour, Armitage went straight to his chambers. His steps were as cool and steady as his face. 

“No disturbances unless it’s an emergency, Kayfour,” he told his protocol droid before entering his private rooms. The door slid shut behind him. 

Armitage made it two steps before collapsing, gasping. His body was shaking, breath coming hard and fast. The room spun. He couldn’t breathe. 

He’d almost killed Poe. He’d ordered his fighters to shoot him down and they’d almost killed him. He should have kept closer track of the raids. He should have been checking twice a day. Three times. Every hour. He grasped at the rug beneath him, wishing it were steel, instead. He deserved the cold. The hard surface punishing his knees. Tears stung his eyes. One fell, hot, on his hand. He fell, still gasping. He curled up into a ball. Couldn’t stop the sobs now. 

He cried, remembering every kiss, every caress, every smile. Every everything that was Poe Dameron. Take his pleasure and walk away. Hadn’t that been the plan? Just like killing Poe in his kitchen had been the plan. He’d been right, and Snoke was wrong. This pilot was a threat. One neither of them could have imagined. Armitage had let Poe in, opening the door wide for him to burrow inside. He’d leaned into the danger when he should have run. Now Poe was in his heart, an infection he couldn’t eradicate. 

He needed to end it. 

He laughed at himself. Ending it wasn’t an option. That ship had already flown into a sun. He’d doomed himself when he stepped inside Poe’s apartment, when he’d given himself to be held, when he’d opened the most secret part of himself to him. When he pressed himself to his skin and felt himself home. 

````````````````````

He hadn’t wept since Rae’s death. His father’s voice rang in his ears as he dragged himself off the floor. 

_Weak. Tender bellied. Soft._

An ever present background noise whenever he stumbled. He dismissed it, staggering to the refresher. He pulled off his clothes, yanking off his jacket, shirt, undershirt, boots, and trousers until he stood naked in the shower, warm water pouring over him. He melted into the stream, sagging against the tiled wall on his forearms, forehead pressed against the cool surface. Afterward, as he toweled himself dry, he caught his own gaze in the mirror. Red rimmed his eyes, and his nose shone pink. An unforgivable lapse should anyone see him now. His throat itched with thirst, proof of how much crying he’d done. 

He squared his shoulders, schooling his face into its usual mask, a perfect guise of invulnerability. He smirked a little. If he didn’t know any better, he’d fool himself. He finished drying off, then grabbed a robe, wrapping it around himself. 

He paused with the cloth still hanging halfway at his upper arms. He often answered Poe’s calls in a robe. Why not? He showered in the evenings, it was faster than putting on civilian clothes, and he and Poe had been topless together the very first day they met. One night, he’d failed to secure the tie properly, and the knot came undone as he reached across the sofa to grab his datapad. The robe had slipped off his right shoulder. He’d grabbed the renegade fabric, intending to pull it up, but stopped when he saw the spark of enjoyment in Poe’s eyes as he stared at Armitage’s bare shoulder. A shoulder that Armitage still considered too scrawny to be appealing save when Poe looked at him.

“What are you thinking?” Armitage asked, a sly smile slipping over his lips.

“How badly I want to touch you.”

Resting back languidly on the couch, Armitage tugged at his left sleeve, pulling it off his other shoulder. It slid down, exposing his upper chest. 

“You tease,” Poe said, grinning widely.

Armitage had shrugged, knowing that Poe would enjoy the flex of his shoulders. 

The evening had ended with Poe’s shirt off and Armitage’s robe pooled at his waist, eager hands skimming over each other’s holoprojections, yearning so desperately to make contact. Armitage promised to go to Mirrin Prime the moment he could, the instant he saw an opening in his schedule.


	5. Chapter 5

Two hours later, Armitage sat on that same sofa, datapad gripped in his lap, comlink trying to connect to Poe. The novel they were reading stared up at him from the datapad. He’d skimmed over the first paragraph of the next chapter about twenty times, glancing at the silent holoprojector, yearning to recite the passages out loud. 

Poe had made it out. The final shots the TIE fighters threw at him didn’t come close to making contact. There was no reason to believe that he hadn’t arrived at Mirrin Prime in one piece. There were perfectly valid reasons why he hadn’t been able to answer his comlink yet. He had come alone, so his mission couldn’t have been officially sanctioned. The New Republic Navy was under strict orders not to retaliate against the First Order, or even acknowledge that any unusual activity could be First Order related. As far as the Republic was concerned, the massive war engine that Armitage led was nothing more than a band of renegade fanatics operating with whatever outdated tech they could scrape together. The senators were being compensated very generously to maintain that image, so Poe was no doubt being reprimanded for his reckless and insubordinate action. 

Or being recruited by the Resistance. Armitage had been trying to ascertain whether Poe was already a member, but with no success. From what they could gather, when a member of the navy joined the Resistance, they were either discharged or took a leave of absence, as they couldn’t very well be in both. Poe was still in the navy’s roster, and he had obviously been on navy patrol today. That didn’t rule out him having been in contact with the Resistance already, but this was Poe, after all. When he believed in something, he jumped head first, damn the consequences. Like their relationship. But he hadn’t known any of the stakes there, had he? Armitage Sondiv was just a merchant. Nor the flag officer of the fleet Poe had just ripped his way through. 

The comlink’s blinking, white light grew steady. Heart in his throat, Armitage picked himself up from where he’d been slouching on the couch. His palms were sweaty, the mask slipping off his face the instant he saw Poe. He hastily yanked it back on. Poe was alive and breathing and uninjured and alive. Gloriously, beautifully alive. Armitage’s heart clenched, pain shooting in his chest. Exhaustion lined Poe’s face, as well as a wealth of emotions, only some of which Armitage could make out. Anger, sadness, awe, determination… And satisfaction. Why satisfaction? Because he’d found proof of the First Order’s readiness for war? 

“Hey,” Poe said, weariness suffusing that small syllable. 

“Are you alright?” Armitage asked, adopting clueless concern. “You look done in.”

“I feel done in.” Poe frowned at him. “How about you? You look a little on edge.”

Damn it. Armitage’s attempt hadn’t worked.

“Fine. Rough day. One of my convoys was attacked by pirates.”

If only that had been the case. 

“Shit.”

“It’s okay. No one died. It’s annoying, but I’ll recover. You look like you’ve had a worse day, though.”

“Well, you got pirates. I got the First Order.”

Cold shot up Armitage’s spine. He’d expected Poe to dissemble, to say that he couldn’t reveal the details of his patrol, not this. There had been one nerve-wracking time when Poe mentioned the First Order to him. Poe had ranted his frustration at the Senate’s willingness to turn its back to the obvious threat. Poe was intelligent. Of course he would recognize that the First Order was a powerful force. Armitage had nodded along, agreed in all the right places, and breathed an imperceptible sigh of relief when Poe had acquiesced to dropping the subject in favor of reading their novel.

“They killed Muran,” Poe said, voice low and distraught.

Fuck. No Republic fatalities had been reported to Armitage.

“I’m so sorry.”

Poe nodded, acknowledging the condolences.

“He got caught in the wake of a hyperspace jump,” Poe continued, sweeping his hair back, yanking slightly at the strands. He barely looked up. “We intercepted a distress call. Found a freighter being highjacked by First Order shuttles. They got away with the ship and the cargo. We took some of them out, but we couldn’t stop them. The crew is definitely dead. And Major Desu…” Poe exhaled sharply through his nose, crossing his arms tightly over his chest as outrage shone on his face. “He won’t do anything. His hands are tied by command. He won’t even officially acknowledge that this was the First Order and not a pirate band. I’m sick of this. I’m sick of the Republic not seeing what’s right in front of their nose.”

“The Senate is filled with people ruled by self-interest, not the good of the galaxy.”

Poe rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“That’s a pretty dim view. Not everyone in the Senate can be that selfish. I won’t believe that. But I wonder sometimes.”

There lied the flaw in Poe’s logic, the sticking point that frustrated Armitage to no end. The proper execution of Poe’s idealized republican government required perfect, impossible beings who would always weigh the needs of the galaxy as a whole to be equally important, and never succumb to the petty greed of taking care of their own first. But, of course, everyone put themselves first. Everyone wanted more recognition, more rewards. Republic historians critized the corruption of the Empire whole ignoring the fact that their senators couldn’t agree on how to police organized crime in the Outer Rim because no one wanted to be inconvenienced. Apart from the under the table dealings that the senators had with said organized crime, some of it so blatant that they must be paying the media to keep it quiet. And that was in addition to the rich funds they received from the First Order. 

But how could Armitage tell Poe any of this without turning his opinion against him? He was treading a thin line as it was. At the beginning, he’d wondered if he might be able to turn Poe’s mind. One may be raised with one set of ideals, only to discover how wrong they were later on. But Poe was the spitting image of every rebellion hero he’d grown up idealizing. One of their nights in Hosnian Prime had been overrun with stories of how his mother had flown with Leia Organa and his father fought with Han Solo. How Poe yearned to be just like them. 

“Armitage, we have to fight against them.”

Armitage frowned at Poe. 

“Well, yes, but you just said naval command won’t budge.”

“I don’t mean the navy.”

Armitage entire body went rigid. Was Poe about to recruit him into the Resistance? Armitage had just checked the naval roster an hour ago. Poe was still on active duty. No official reprimand had been filed, but his commanding officer might not have had time to do so yet. However, if Resistance high command had gotten wind of Poe’s unsanctioned mission… 

It had only been a matter of time. If Poe had just been inducted into the Resistance, that would explain why he took so long to respond to Armitage. And the awe and satisfaction on his face earlier. Awe at having met his childhood hero Leia Organa? 

Hadn’t learning Resistance secrets been one of Armitage’s justifications for remaining with Poe at the beginning? Yet hadn’t he also been lying to himself? He’d just spent a good half hour huddled on the floor crying because he gave an order that almost killed Poe. Certain facts must be faced, inconvenient or not. If he agreed to join the Resistance, and their high command didn’t recognize him from some image the slicers had missed, then what? Lure Poe away and send a dreadnought to their secret base to blow it up? Poe would know immediately that he’d betrayed him. He’d never so much as speak to him again, much less touch him. Or worse, he’d try to kill Armitage. Then what? Would Armitage let himself be gunned down? Or kill Poe in self-defense? 

Armitage’s gut heaved violently, the imagined blaster shot ripping through his own guts. 

“Armitage? Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

Poe always so concerned for him. Always so kind and giving and loving. Fuck, was this love? Was this what it felt like, strangling his insides like a creeping vine shredding him from the inside out at the fear that this man before him would one day look at him with hatred in his eyes? For the day was coming. One side would win, and it wouldn’t be the Resistance. Poe would see Armitage for who he really was. General Hux, conqueror of the galaxy. Armitage was only delaying the inevitable by refusing to unmask the truth. 

Poe would never turn. He’d never forgive him. Even with the Resistance and the Republic destroyed, he’d just start a new Resistance, if there was anyone left willing to fight. And if there wasn’t, he would grab whatever starfighter he could get his hands on and charge the First Order by himself. Poe would rather die fighting for his ideals than turn away from them. He was brash and stubborn and single-minded, and, God, did Armitage love that about him. He shared those qualities, after all. Oh, if only Poe had been born to the Empire and the First Order. What an unstoppable pair they would make. 

But Poe wouldn’t be the man before him, would he? He would have had his ideals chosen for him, programmed to believe only his superiors’ opinions, not his own. As if that were even possible. Poe never yielded to authority he didn’t agree with. He would have been subjected to reconditioning after reconditioning until he either broke (as if he would) or was discarded, his brilliant piloting skills not worth the trouble of dealing with his cheek. 

“I’m okay,” Armitage replied to Poe’s question. “I’m just not sure what it is you’re asking of me. Or if I’m going to like it.”

“Armitage, we need to do something. You know how dangerous they are.”

“Do what? Join this Resistance, if it even exists?”

Armitage’s skepticism made Poe pause, just for a moment, enough to begin reconsidering whether betraying this fresh secret would be worth it. It meant that Poe would trust him less, but as much as it felt like he was stabbing himself in the hand, Armitage had to. For if he did find out where the Resistance headquarters were… 

He didn’t know what he’d do. 

“Poe, I quit the military. I run a freighter business. I distanced myself from all this. The last thing I want is to join a war.”

“I don’t want to go to war, either, but we don’t have a choice. You were six when the Battle of Jakku happened. Do you remember anything about living with the Empire?”

Appealing to some shared, universal trauma, was he now?

“Some.”

“Do you remember the fear? My parents said that it was so oppressive that you could breathe it, like a noxious cloud. Do you remember that?”

_Cowering in the recesses of a supply closet at the Academy, weeping as the sting of his father’s backhand slap stabbed his cheek._

“Yes.”

“And do you remember how hope returned after we won? How overjoyed everyone was to finally have their fates in their own hands again?”

Gallius Rax giving him command of the raggedy band of children his father had trained, that they would mold into the First Order’s new stormtroopers. 

“Yes.”

“Then why aren’t you joining the fight now?”

“Joining? Are you in contact with this Resistance?”

The question was a gamble. Poe might reply in the affirmative, decide that if he proved to Armitage that there was, in fact, a force out there battling the First Order, that this might tip the scales. But the Resistance relied on secrecy. Only those who they were sure of could be trusted. Else, it would have collapsed already. And Armitage’s skepticism was hardly a ringing endorsement of his cooperation.

All these considerations rattled in Poe’s mind, playing out in the shifting emotions in his face, most stinging of which was disappointment. The day had finally come. The day when Poe realized that Armitage wasn’t all that he’d thought. After a long pause, Poe shook his head. 

“No,” he said.

Was this a victory, or had Armitage just defeated himself? 

“Listen,” Poe said, avoiding Armitage’s eyes. “I um, can barely keep my eyes open. I’m going to go to bed early. Today was… bad.”

“Of course. Get some rest. Please. I really am sorry about Muran. And… not giving you the answer you wanted.”

“It’s okay.” 

Armitage could see Poe trying for a smile, to reassure him, but his muscles faltered, and it came out like a grimace, instead. But at least he was trying to reassure him.

“We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” Poe said.

“Okay. Good night.”

“Night.”

Poe disconnected the call. Armitage stared at the spot where his face had just been. His hands clenched on the sofa cushions. He breathed hard through his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut, his head dropping to his chest. He had just saved Poe, hadn’t he? By delaying any retaliation he could take against the Resistance? Even if by that action, he drove a wedge between them that Poe couldn’t live with, that had to matter. He couldn’t have messed up everything today. He must have done something right, even if Poe hated him for it.


	6. Chapter 6

He awoke to a message in his comlink. He had only managed to sleep at all due to special herbs added to his evening tea. Poe appeared in the holoprojector. A cup nearly slipped from Armitage’s hand as he rushed to sit on the sofa, paying the closest attention to Poe’s face. He didn’t look upset, did he? Only tired. How did people look when they broke up with their partners?

“Good morning,” Poe said. “I didn’t want to wait until tonight to talk to you. I don’t like how I left things last night. I was angry and sad about Muran. I’ve always suspected you don’t feel so strongly about these matters as I do. I’m not criticizing you for it. I can’t say I understand it, but… I know it’s no small thing to ask someone to risk their lives and go to war. You did quit the army. That should have told me what I needed to know. I’m sorry for putting you in that position. And for letting you think I was angry at you. I’m angry at the First Order, not you.”

Armitage exhaled sharply through his nose. 

“I’ll call you tonight,” Poe continued. “I just wanted to let you know… in case you were wondering… I hope you weren’t, but… We’re okay.”

Poe smiled, truthfully this time. 

Armitage dropped on the couch, relief buoying him up for a moment, before the inevitable trepidation returned. Poe had forgiven him. For now. Armitage could still have this for a while longer. Even if he could no longer pretend that everything was alright. 

```````````````````````

Three days later, Armitage messaged Poe that he could go to Mirrin Prime in either four or five standard days, his pick, from late morning until night. Provided that Resistance duties didn’t impede it, of course. As far as the navy was concerned, Poe was on leave at the moment, supposedly taking care of his sick father, not that he’d informed Armitage of this obvious cover story. The remaining members of Rapier Squadron were also on leave. What a coincidence. All while Poe lied to Armitage about how he was actually relieved that Mirrin sector had returned to its former quietude. He wasn’t in Mirrin Prime anymore. He’d jumped ship to the Resistance, and whatever planet they were on. 

So who knew if Poe would even be available on the days that Armitage suggested. Organa might have him off on a mission, which Poe would feel too dutybound to beg off of. One couldn’t simply abandon one’s post because one’s boyfriend was in town. Especially when Poe wasn’t even in town to begin with. Which was why Armitage had messaged him in the morning instead of waiting for their usual, evening chat, to give Poe time to craft a believable excuse and not have to scramble to improvise a mission on the spot. Poe might think he was a good liar, but he wasn’t. Not even close. Sadly, those really were the only days that Armitage could see him for the foreseeable future. And they would have likely worked if Poe were still in the navy. 

“I can do four days from now,” Poe said later, a bright smile on his face.

“Excellent,” Armitage said, keeping his surprise from his voice. His heart sang at the sheer joy on Poe’s face. After they’d spoken about their disagreement over the Resistance, their evening conversations had returned to normal, but worry had confounded him for a moment.

“I’m glad you finally found some time off. I’ve been going stir crazy without you. I know it’s the nature of the job, but…”

“It’s still insufferable.”

“Exactly.”

“I should be there no later than ten. At the private spaceport on the east side of the city. I’ll let them know you’re coming so you can meet me at the docking bay.”

“Perfect. I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me, too.”

Hopefully, the Resistance wouldn’t make any sudden moves before then. Or the First Order.

```````````````````

Armitage landed at the spaceport with thirty minutes to spare. Fear had assaulted him as he brushed his teeth that morning. What if Snoke blind-sided him with a sudden request? Or Organa decided that she had better things for Poe to do than meet his boyfriend? Yet Armitage was able to make it into his private spaceship and take off without incident. If anyone checked his flight log, he was heading to Naboo in a single hyperspace jump. Actually, he took three separate jumps before arriving in Mirrin Prime’s orbit. Since he was so early, he didn’t expect Poe to already be there. 

But when he opened the bay doors, squinting at the bright sunlight, Poe stood right in front of the doors, admiring the ship. 

“Poe,” Armitage said, scarcely daring to believe it.

Poe grinned at him.

“Armitage.”

Poe ran up the ramp to hug him, his arms feeling like heaven around him. Armitage hugged him just as fiercely, dropping his face on Poe’s head, sucking up his scent, his warmth, his everything. 

_Eighteen TIE fighters on Poe’s tail, firing at him, buffeting his shields._

“I’m overjoyed to see you,” Armitage said, leaning slightly back to press his forehead against Poe’s. He considered closing his eyes, put Poe’s intense gaze held him, filled with light and love. Should Armitage say it? Should he greet Poe with an “I love you”? Could he actually take that extra step?

“It’s been too, damn long,” Poe said, grasping Armitage’s nape, rubbing his jawline. “I know it’ll probably be another six weeks or longer until the next time, but…”

Best leave declarations out of this. What good would they do in the end? Armitage kissed the bridge of Poe’s nose. He rubbed Poe’s back, hating the barrier of his jacket. 

“Let’s go inside,” he said.

“Yes.”

He grabbed Poe’s hand, barely remembering to close the bay doors as he led Poe to his quarters. They weren’t the most comfortable, but they were serviceable, and he’d just had the mattress of his bunk replaced with a softer model. It lied beneath a wide viewport, great for stargazing, but less so when annoying sunlight was streaming in. He drew the blinds before pushing Poe’s jacket off his shoulders. 

“Okay, okay, I got it,” Poe said, taking it off himself. “No patience, huh?”

“None.”

Armitage ripped the hem of his shirt out of his trousers, pulling it over his head. Poe paused on his own shirt at the sight, face growing slack and desirous. He touched Armitage’s shoulders, hands slightly chilly from the cool air outside, and drew them down to Armitage’s stomach and around to his back, kissing Armitage’s collarbone. Armitage shivered, breath short. He slid his hands up Poe’s shirt, feeling along his spine.

“Right,” Poe said breathlessly. 

Releasing Armitage, he yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it toward a chair. He missed. Oh, well, Armitage wasn’t going to lecture him on the proper handling of clothing when he had an armful of bare chested Poe pressed against him, his skin as soft and warm and delicious as the last time he’d touched him. He pushed Armitage down on the bed, climbing atop him.

“Boots,” Armitage said.

Poe frowned at him, uncomprehending for a second before his eyes widened.

“Right,” he said, sitting on the bed. “Boots.”

Armitage chuckled as he watched Poe rip off them off his feet along with his socks.

“Now who has no patience?”

Poe smiled. Armitage sat up to take off his own, but Poe kneeled on the floor before him.

“Let me,” he said, picking up Armitage’s left foot.

Armitage smiled as Poe unzipped his boot and peeled it off, followed shortly by his sock. Poe repeated the action with his right foot, his touch lingering on Armitage’s bare skin. He kneaded Armitage’s sole with his thumbs. Armitage sagged against the bulkhead, sighing softly at the delightful pressure. 

“I’ve missed this,” he said.

Poe picked up Armitage’s left foot.

“I know.”

“Come up here,” Armitage urged softly after a moment.

Armitage slid down on the mattress, lying on his back. Poe climbed atop him like before, bracing himself on his elbows as he looked at him. Armitage tugged his head down, kissing his cheek, then his jaw, then down the side of Poe’s neck. Poe’s warm exhale gusted on Armitage’s hair. He huffed a laugh as Armitage reached a ticklish spot. 

“Sorry,” Armitage murmured.

“No problem.”

Smiling, Poe scooched down to kiss Armitage’s own neck, nibbling lightly at the juncture of his shoulder. Armitage gasped, squeezing Poe’s back. Poe had suggested this on their week in Hosnian Prime. Armitage hadn’t been certain that he’d enjoy it, but he’d been delightfully mistaken. Poe continued along his shoulder, then down his chest, sometimes nuzzling, sometimes stroking his lips so lightly over Armitage’s skin that his breath quickened, fingers curling on Poe’s back. 

He was over Armitage’s stomach when it happened. Horror and embarrassment hit him like a tsunami of frigid water, his eyes flying open to look down. He was hard. Again. Fuck. He let go of Poe, his hands fisting at his sides, self-recrimination and anger surging through him. He didn’t want to be hard. He didn’t want to have anything to do with any of that. Why did his own body have to betray him like this?

“Hey, it’s okay.”

He glanced at Poe, but couldn’t make himself meet his eyes for more than a second. Poe shifted up on the bed, and tugged Armitage towards him. Armitage let him, turning to his side to rest his face on Poe’s chest. He was very careful not to touch Poe with… that. He hugged Poe, closing his eyes, struggling to control his breathing like Poe had told him the last time this had happened. Armitage had wanted to run out of the apartment, shame burning through him, but Poe had held him like he was doing now, stroked his hair, and told him to breathe. 

“It’s okay,” Poe said in a soothing litany. “You’re okay. We’ll just give it a minute.”

“I hate this.”

“I know. Me, too.”

“Does it happen to you?”

“It does. We’ve been lucky so far, trust me.”

“I’m not in control of my own body. It’s odious. I was enjoying myself. I can’t bear having to put up with this while I’m doing so.”

“I get it. But, unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do.”

“Isn’t there some medicine or herb or something that can take this away?”

“Not without leaving you in the mood to do nothing at all. I didn’t feel like touching anyone for two days. It wasn’t worth it.”

Armitage frowned. Great. So this nightmare would keep happening every time he and Poe got too excited. 

_Which might not be for much longer, anyway._

He shoved the treasonous thought away, yet not before his arms stiffened around Poe, who, of course, interpreted it as worry over the current situation.

“We’ll make it work,” Poe said, kissing the top of Armitage’s head. “In a bit, it’ll go away, and we can try again. What would you like to do?”

What Poe had been doing before. But they’d just end up right here again. He pressed a kiss to Poe’s chest.

“That,” he said.

But that cursed discomfort still ached between his legs.

“Okay.”

Poe cupped Armitage’s nape, rubbing his earlobe. They lied in silence, waiting. Waiting for Armitage’s body to stop betraying him. 

It finally simmered down. They delayed a minute longer just in case, then Armitage kissed Poe’s chest, covering him with kisses before moving back up to his shoulders and his neck. The cool metal of Poe’s ring pressed against his clavicle as he nuzzled just below Poe’s ear. Poe shifted onto his back, pulling Armitage half atop him. He gripped Armitage’s waist,, craning his neck back to give Armitage more room to kiss. Burying his hands in Poe’s hair, Armitage pressed their foreheads together, closing his eyes, matching his breath to the cadence of Poe’s own. Poe rubbed his cheeks. Taking Armitage’s left hand, Poe placed it flat on his own stomach, then slowly drew it up his chest, giving Armitage the measure of his raw breaths and his beating heart. Armitage continued the tender exploration, Poe’s hand lightly gripping his. 

“Better?” Poe asked, a whisper on Armitage’s skin.

“Yes.” Armitage pressed his palm over Poe’s heart, feeling that precious _thump thump._ “Oh, yes.” 

`````````````````````````````

They lied together until their stomachs rumbled from hunger. Armitage put down his datapad, which he’d been reading to Poe with, and got up to reheat the lunch he’d brought. He apologized for not having made it himself. He’d considered learning how to cook at least a simple meal in exchange for Poe having cooked for him so many times in Hosnian Prime, but he had no time to fry an egg, much less figure out how to fix a full meal. And he could hardly go down to the kitchens and order one of the cooks to teach him. They’d comply, obviously, but how would that look? Why, at the age of thirty-four, after being catered to by professional chefs and droids his whole life, would General Hux suddenly feel compelled to cook for himself? Cooking was a menial task, far below his station. 

But he hadn’t thought so once. Not when he snuck into the Arkanis Academy’s kitchens after his lessons were over and helped his mother by bringing her ingredients. He had to be careful. No son of Commandant Brendol Hux was allowed to waste his time with common drudgery, no matter how shameful his provenance. His father had done him the great courtesy of giving him his name and a place in his school, and Armitage wouldn’t spit in the face of that by learning how to boil an egg. Yet his mother had taught him anyway. Armitage had the vaguest notion of it. Water boiling in a pot, white eggs clacking together among the bubbles. But did you put them in before or after the water boiled? And for how long? He couldn’t remember. That was the extent that his memory reached, the edges all hazy, faded away like the sound of his mother’s voice. 

“That’s okay,” Poe replied to his apology. “It’s hardly a deal breaker.”

“I think…” Armitage looked at the grilled nuna and sautéed vegetables on the plate in front of him. “I’d like to learn.”

“I can teach you, if you want. We have time today.”

“We don’t, actually. I have a surprise planned for this afternoon.”

Poe shot him an intrigued look.

“Do you? I don’t suppose I can convince you to give me a hint?”

“The purpose of a surprise is to surprise you. Unless you don’t enjoy surprises?”

“Nah, I’m fine with surprises. Okay. Don’t tell me anything. Next time, though. Do you want me to teach you?”

“I would like that, yes.”

The first thing Armitage would ask was how to boil an egg.

````````````````````````

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” Poe asked as Armitage cleared the dishes away. He insisted that Poe remain seated while Armitage washed them. Strictly speaking, he could leave them and have whatever stormtrooper was assigned to sanitation that day handle them, but it looked a little better for him to wash them now rather than just leave them in the sink, dirty. 

“I can’t know until you ask,” Armitage replied, looking through the drawers for soap. 

“Why did you leave the army?”

Damn. 

“I thought we’d left this subject behind.”

Armitage opened another drawer, very glad that Poe was seated behind him, so he couldn’t see his face. Pans, pots, and some serrated contraption, but no soap.

“I know. I hate bringing this up again.”

Did he? Or did he just want so very much for his boyfriend to join him in the Resistance, no matter how clear Armitage had made it that he wouldn’t budge? 

“My father died. It was either quit to run his company myself or sell it off. I chose the former. I like the business. I’m not giving you a different answer than I did last time.”

There! There was the damn soap. He grabbed the bottle, pouring some on the sponge. Poe sighed. Armitage could practically hear him rub his face.

“I don’t really expect you to.”

Armitage ran the faucet.

“Then why are you asking again?”

“I don’t know. I thought I’d try. Maybe…” 

“Maybe I’d change my mind.”

Water splashed on Armitage’s shirt as he moved the plates under the stream of water. He hardly noticed. 

“I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again, I promise.”

Armitage placed the second plate on the drying rack. He was still missing the glasses and the knives. The hell with them. The stormtroopers could wash those. He grabbed a small towel he’d found in a drawer and dried his hands, his movements jerkier than he intended. He paused when he turned around. Poe was slumped forward, face buried in his right hand, like someone had shot out his thrusters and he’d run aground. Was this Armitage’s fault? Was his refusal upsetting Poe this badly?

“I regret if I’ve disappointed you,” Armitage said, putting the towel aside.

Poe sat up, shaking his head. Was that a tear at the corner of his left eye? 

“No, this isn’t because of you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have insisted.”

Armitage rushed to sit next to him, taking Poe’s hand from his lap and holding it with both of his. 

“What is it, then?”

Poe shook his head again. He swiped away at the tear, looking down at their hands. He swallowed.

“I don’t know. Everything that’s going on. I saw more intelligence reports about what the First Order is up to.”

More like Organa had shown him everything she knew about their operations.

“I still haven’t processed what happened to Muran,” Poe continued. “I haven’t had time. I’ve been running. Been doing my job. Trying to figure out how to tackle this. I guess I… haven’t given myself time to grieve.”

“No. Clearly, you haven’t.”

Poe wiped at another tear. Standing up, Armitage pushed his chair next to Poe’s so that they were side by side. 

“I don’t want to do this,” Poe said, squeezing Armitage’s hand. “It’s our first day together in six weeks and I’m crying.”

“I lost my composure just a while ago. And it’s obvious you’ve been holding onto this for too long. So.” 

Armitage placed his free hand on Poe’s nape and coaxed his head down on his shoulder. Poe burst out laughing, the kind of laugh that bordered on hysteria and only occurred when one was desperately trying to avert its opposite. 

“You want me to cry on your shoulder?”

Armitage switched hands, grabbing Poe’s with his left, while wrapping his right arm around Poe’s shoulders.

“You need to. Come on.”

It was his touching Poe’s hair that did it. Poe went from breathing raspily to sobbing in a second. He grabbed Armitage’s left arm, both hands squeezing fiercely as tears poured on Armitage’s shirt. Armitage stroked his hair like Poe had done with him earlier, kissing the top of his head, eyes shutting with fury at the crew that had taken the _Yissira Zyde_. He would have them all executed, thrown out an air lock before anyone thought of asking questions. But of course he wouldn’t. On what grounds? They’d been doing their jobs. Armitage was the one who slacked, who missed that plan among reams of datawork. But it wasn’t only Muran’s death that Poe was feeling. He was terrified. The First Order was the descendant of the boogeyman he’d been raised to fear. All he saw when he looked at it was horror and despair. Not order. Not progress. Not a way for the galaxy to not collapse in chaos and infighting at the drop of a hat. 

Something burned inside Armitage, as quick and stinging as the click of a whip, rank and bleeding, followed swiftly by a shudder, piercing and cold. The day was coming. When he’d have to give up Poe. He felt its approach like Force users felt the world around them. A wolf howling in the winter wind. A Starkiller eating up a sun. 

````````````````````````````

“I could really use your surprise right now,” Poe said afterward, head still nestled on Armitage’s shoulder. 

“Are you sure you’re not too tired? We don’t have to go out anywhere.”

“No.” 

Poe raised his head, wiping his eyes with the palm of this hand, and sniffed. “I need a distraction. And I don’t want your surprise to go to waste. Come on.” 

Poe stood up, heading to the refresher. The line of Armitage’s shirt collar was imprinted on his left cheek, his eyes bloodshot, looking as weary as if he’d run through the gauntlet of Armitage’s fleet. Shame burned in Armitage’s gut again. He tightened his jaw, focusing on his motions as he pulled on his boots and his jacket. 

Poe strode back into the room, his pace rushed, jumpy, equally eager for a distraction as he slumped onto the floor to put on his boots. His eyes were a little clearer. That was something. 

“Are we walking or flying?” he asked.

His voice was a tad more upbeat, but only until you heard the desperate edge. 

“Flying. But not in the ship. We’re going close by. We’ll take my speeder.”

Armitage’s choice of speeder had the intended effect. When Armitage straddled his speeder bike and nodded at Poe to get up behind him, Poe’s eyes lit up, a pleased smile growing on his face. Armitage’s own shoulders lightened as he smiled back. Poe pressed himself behind him, arms wrapping securely around his waist, face leaning lightly at the top of his back. He jostled gently against him as Armitage revved the speeder to life and rode off. He took them through the meadows at the edge of the city. A slight detour, but what sense did it make to get stuck in urban traffic when this quiet route was much more enjoyable? He had to admit, he did miss stretches of green like this after long weeks spent on the _Finalizer_. The thick, pine forests of Starkiller Base provided a respite, but he hardly went there to go hiking. The last time he’d been able to squeeze one in had been three months ago. His pathfinding skills had grown rusty. 

Poe received the first glimpse of his surprise as a sunsail flew over them, its white finish gleaming in the sun. 

“A sunsail.” Poe raised his voice to be heard over the wind. “Wait? Don’t they rent those near here?”

Armitage grinned.

“Yes, they do.”

Within a minute, the dock appeared on the horizon, six sunsails lining a long platform jutting in the air. Armitage flew them up to the rental office at the opposite end from the meadow, parking in one of the designated spots. Poe gaped around at the luxury speeders next to them and the sunsails, thrilled, yet cautious at once. 

“Armitage. I’m grateful, really, but these cost a lot of money.”

“I’ve only rented one for the afternoon, not bought one.”

“I figured. Still.”

Yet, even as he protested, Poe couldn’t help but gaze at the nearest sunsail with longing, fingers tapping restlessly at his hips, shoulders tensed with the urge to take off in flight. 

“It’s my money,” Armitage said. “I want to spend it making you smile.”

Poe turned to him. The love in his eyes robbed Armitage of his breath. Yes, that was love, wasn’t it? He hadn’t seen it directed at himself for so long, but what else could it be? How else to describe the tenderness, the caring, the sheer joy at Armitage’s affection? Armitage hadn’t meant his words as some sort of declaration. He’d merely stated a fact. He couldn’t be the man Poe wanted, but what he could give, he would, and gladly. Poe reached for him, his hands gentle, his smile beautiful, his face heavenly against Armitage’s own. 

“Thank you,” Poe murmured. “This means a lot.”

Armitage held him close, enjoying the peace of this moment, this fragile instant in time. 

“Your happiness is all the reward I need.”

God, when had he become this sappy? It was nauseating. A part of him gagged at the sickly sweetness of what he’d just spoken, but he meant it, damn it all. He meant every word. 

Poe was practically bouncing by the time they climbed into the sunsail. Not the one he’d been eyeing earlier. This one was even sleeker, painted chrome black, the pristine whiteness of its sails a fitting contrast. Only the best for his Poe. Poe grinned like a teenager riding his first speeder as he activated the sails and they soared up beside them. Just like Poe had bragged about, and to Armitage’s total lack of surprise, Poe was a natural. They soared over the meadow, wind gusting around them as Poe felt his way around the vessel, sometimes meandering over the rolling hills, other times gunning it across the flatter valleys. The brightness of the sun wasn’t so obnoxious to Armitage now, not as Poe whooped with excitement as he clipped along a curve faster than was recommended, his smile bright, the magnificence of his skill filling Armitage with pride. 

Somewhere on one of the hills, where the tall grass hid them from any potential onlookers, Poe set down the vessel, flung off his goggles, and climbed on Armitage’s lap, kissing fervently all along his face and neck. Armitage’s hands curled on his back, holding him fast, wishing he never had to let go.


	7. Chapter 7

_Four days later_

Armitage lounged on the sofa, datapad in hand, when the comlink beeped with an incoming transmission. Armitage smiled, verifying Poe’s name on the ID, and answered the call. 

The instant Poe’s face appeared, the smile withered on his face. He sat up, terror freezing his body, choking his lungs like the cold hand of Kylo Ren one time that Armitage had dared to speak back to him. Poe glared at him with a fury that made him afraid to even open his mouth to confirm the suspicion twisting in his stomach.

“Poe?”

His voice was weak, feeble, pleading.

_He knows. Oh God, he knows._

“Armitage Hux,” Poe said, the name as lethal as a blaster shot.

Armitage flinched at the disgust dripping from Poe’s voice.

“Your name, your real name, is General Armitage Hux. You know, I’m amazed that you even told me your real first name, but you probably enjoyed hearing me whisper it into your ear while we lied together. The stupid, rebel pilot who you duped into bed with you.”

“Poe, that’s not what it was—”

Poe raised a datapad. The comlink didn’t do the best job at providing a sharp picture of its screen, but it was clear enough to see himself, ten years younger, standing next to his father, Phasma, and the child who they’d taken from Parnassos. Security cam footage. The Resistance had gotten incredibly lucky in stealing a couple of their ships. Nothing major. Shuttles and the like. Why the hell did one of them have to be _that_ shuttle? 

“You’re younger,” Poe said, “but this is definitely you. There’s audio, too. I’d know your voice anywhere. It came with a larger story, too. We captured one of the medi-droids that treated your father. He didn’t just get sick one day. Your lackey Phasma put a venomous beetle on him. One that no one outside of her home planet is aware of. It couldn’t be traced back to you. But you still killed him.”

“I told you what he was like. I didn’t lie about any of it.”

“Are you really trying to justify murder to me right now? Is that what you’re doing? Yeah, the man was a piece of shit, but you still murdered him. And it’s not just that. It’s everything. Your stormtrooper program. The killings the First Order have committed. The planets you’ve conquered. Fuck, your attempt to take over the galaxy. God, I can’t believe I let you comfort me over Muran.”

Poe stopped himself, the datapad falling somewhere out of sight as he rubbed his face, hard, pacing around in tight circles. 

“I never wanted you to find out about any of this,” Armitage said, begging, pride shattered in pieces on the floor. “I hated lying to you. Hated every second of it. But how else would you react other than like this if you knew?”

“Why were you with me at all? Huh? Why?” Poe turned helpless eyes at him, his confusion agonizing. “Just so someone would touch you? Put up with you? Because you like my body? What? The obvious thing is that you wanted to get Resistance secrets from me, but you refused to join up. Twice. I did make it obvious that I meant the Resistance when I wanted to fight the First Order. But you got pissed off at me. Didn’t want to hear it. Why did you do that? God, I almost handed you the Resistance on a silver platter. We had no idea what you looked like until today. You should have jumped at the chance. Why the fuck didn’t you? It makes no sense!”

Poe was the one begging him now, desperate to find any reason in the disaster that Armitage had wrought upon them.

“Because… Because I would have felt duty bound to make use of that information to destroy you all. To k—” Armitage gasped. “To kill you.”

Poe’s confusion only intensified.

“And you don’t want to do that?”

“I don’t want to kill you. The idea of you dead makes me sick. When you showed up looking for that damned freighter—”

Poe’s eyes widened.

“You were there?”

“Yes, I was fucking there. I had to order the frigates to stop firing at you, but I couldn’t—I had to order the TIEs to take you down.”

“You did what?!”

“What else was I supposed to do? Tell my fleet to let the Republic pilot go? You weren’t supposed to be there. Why do you think your patrol had been so damn quiet for a month? I’d been canceling every operation anywhere near you, but I fucked up. I missed this one. I was buried in work and I fucked up, just when one of my captains decided to be enterprising. I’m sorry about Muran. I can see you don’t believe me, but I am sorry. I am. I never wanted to cause you grief, though I always knew I would. Even before I could know if you were in the Resistance. You’re a Republic pilot with a truly impressive rebel background. Yes, I wanted someone to touch me. And you were handsome, and willing, so I thought, what the hell? Just an hour. Just to scratch the itch. Then I’d be done with you, and never have to think about you again. Perhaps a passing thought when we decimated the Republic, but no more. I didn’t intend to enter into a relationship with you. When I did, yes, I admit it, I did justify it to myself like that. What a boon it would be to gain Resistance secrets from you. As far as you knew, I ran a successful freighter business. What an asset I would be to you if you decided to let me in. That idea didn’t last the week.” 

Armitage shook his head.

“It didn’t even last past Equinox Day. You have the proof that I didn’t go through with it. You offered me precisely that, and I declined. So you know that’s not why I’m— why I was-- with you.”

“Then why?”

Such genuine confusion. So unwilling to see the obvious truth in front of him, too preposterous to conceive of.

“Because I fell in love with you. You held me. Comforted me. Told me that you had my back. And you meant it. You had nothing to gain, yet you kept meaning it. I’ve never felt more or less like myself than I have with you.” 

Poe stared at him. He shook his head, his movements jittery, unconscious, the declaration, too long delayed, overwhelming him with its irrationality.

“No,” Poe said, voice as faint as a breeze before picking up strength. “That can’t be right. You can’t… General Hux of the First Order can’t be in love with me. I didn’t know about you, but you knew about me. You want to subjugate the galaxy.”

“I want to restore order.”

“That’s not what you’re doing.”

“The Republican Senate is corrupt and useless. You know that. You agreed with me when we discussed it.”

In the only political conversation Armitage had dared to have with him. Poe had been frustrated by the news that the Senate would rather pass a resolution padding their own benefits than deal with the famine in Lothal. Armitage had been so relieved that he found the politicians as incompetent as he did, even if Poe still stubbornly clung to the hollow institution. 

“We agreed that many of the senators in office now are corrupt and out for glory. Not that we should take the whole system down. That’s the opposite of what I said, and you know it. My parents, every adult I grew up with, they all lived through the Empire. They felt its cruelty. Its oppression. Its sick and perverted sense of _order_. You think they fought and died for kicks? Against your people. The First Order is no different than the Empire. You just got a new name and fancier uniforms. You may have hated your father, but you became exactly like him.”

Armitage flinched. 

“I don’t see how it’s possible for someone like you to be in love with someone like me,” Poe continued. “How you can put on your uniform every day and think that just because you’re nice to me, that makes it okay.”

Poe hung up. His final, disappointed glare burned in Armitage’s mind. 

Flying off the sofa, Armitage stabbed at the comm buttons, trying to get him back, but Poe wouldn’t answer. He was probably altering his frequency right now. Armitage would never be able to reach him again, not until Poe next struck against a fleet Armitage was leading. 

A tear spilled on the table. Shaking, Armitage touched under his right eye. His fingers came back wet. He fell on the floor, gripping the table. His fingers bumped into his tea cup. Growling, he grabbed it and hurled it violently across the room. It shattered on the wall with a loud crash. Chest heaving, he pushed himself up to the sofa, collapsing face first. He grabbed the cushion, squeezing hard, making his fingers hurt. A sharp keening hurt his ears, a wailing. Himself. That sound came from his own throat. 

He cried.

````````````````````````````

_1:37 am, day 1 since breakup_

“Poe, I do love you. I do. I swear to you I do. Yes, it makes no sense. I certainly never planned for it. But it happened. I knew we couldn’t last. I’m not stupid. But I wanted to hold on for as long as I could.”

Armitage breathed, inhales whistling in his nose. He ended the voicemail, picked himself up from the sofa, and blew his nose. Rubbing his stinging eyes, he grabbed a sleeping pill from his refresher cabinet and gulped it down. He drank a full glass of water, soothing his aching throat for only a second. He jarred his shoulder as he crumpled on the bed, shifting until he found a dry spot on the pillow.

`````````````````````````````

_4:15 am, day 1 since breakup_

His bladder woke him up. He shouldn’t have drunk so much water. The dim light hollowed out his stricken eyes even more in the mirror.

```````````````````````````

_6:47 am, day 1 since breakup_

The sharp edge of the razor pressed to his throat as he dragged it up his chin, snipping off the stubble that had grown overnight. A straight razor was ancient technology. No one outside of primitive worlds used them anymore, yet Armitage had taken a liking to them. It’s effectiveness depended exclusively on the skill of the wielder. Too little pressure at the wrong angle, and the blade would leave the hair untouched. But too much pressure, and it would pierce the skin. It was an exercise in control. He enjoyed control. Reveled in it. Strove to always own it in his grasp.

Poe had broken up with him ten hours ago. Armitage’s eyes were still hollow, ugly circles rimming them. When he closed them, Poe’s repulsed outrage was all he could see. 

His hand shook on the razor. Sighing sharply, he put it down. It clinked loudly on the sink. He’d have to finish with an electric shaver. Just this morning. Just until he got his finer motor skills under control. 

Shaving done, he splashed his face clean, dried off, and looked at himself. This wouldn’t do. He’d be found out in a second, looking like a lovelorn child. He put some medicinal drops in his eyes to clear up the redness. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do anything about the puffiness without makeup, which would look even worse, but that much was excusable, at least. He was no stranger to late nights. No one would think anything of it. Another night catching up with datawork. That was all. Standing up to his full height, he raised his chin. Shoulders back. Gaze steady. Lips firm, yet betraying no expression. Feet half a meter apart. Hands folded behind his back.

There he was. The face he’d worn every day since he graduated from the academy. A face that commanded respect, that Rae would be proud of, even as she would berate him in shame for the feelings brewing beneath it. He wouldn’t let his sadness leak through, nor the pain lancing his heart. He was General Armitage Hux of the First Order, and he would comport himself as such, no matter how much Poe loathed him for it. Poe had always been a distraction. No more than that. Armitage’s foolish refusal to back off when he felt those nasty emotions stir within him didn’t alter this crucial fact. It was always meant to come to an end. Now that end was here. Armitage should have severed the relationship first, but no matter. Poe had done him a favor, really. Awakened him to the truth. A First Order general and a rebel pilot. Please. What preposterous nonsense. His feelings would change with time. Everything changed with time.

```````````````````````````````````

_7:38 pm, day 1 since breakup_

Armitage checked his comlink for messages. Nothing from Poe. His jaw clenched, the ache he’d been repressing the whole day flaring in his gut. 

```````````````````````````````````

_7:20 am, day 3 since breakup_

“You’re right,” Armitage said to Poe’s voicemail. “Someone like me with someone like you? Ridiculous. I should never have made the attempt. My feelings are still… what they are. Don’t worry, I shall do my best to eradicate them.”

```````````````````````````````````  
 _3:44 am, day 4 since breakup_

Armitage awoke gasping, shirt drenched in sweat. Horrible images from his dream flashed in his mind. 

Poe squirming in Kylo Ren’s grip, screaming, twisted like a rag doll. Ren tossing his broken body to the ground. Armitage running to him. Kylo Ren grabbing him by the throat. The world swimming. Armitage suddenly standing in the command center of Starkiller Base.

“Fire,” he ordered. 

The planet Poe lied on shattered into pieces.

Awake, Armitage scrambled out of bed and ran to the light switch. He grimaced in the sudden light, pain wrenching his retinas. He grabbed his datapad, scrolling through shipyard reports, fleet statuses, issues of starship magazines, anything to distract himself from the terror lancing his treacherous heart.

``````````````````````````````````

_9:12 pm, day 6 since breakup_

“You haven’t changed your frequency. Is it possible that you enjoy hearing my voice? Perhaps you’re not listening. Blast it, I shouldn’t have said anything. Now you likely will change it to spite me. You don’t appreciate my accent as much as you once did, do you? My Imperial tone. It’s the only accent I’ve ever had. There is nothing affected about it. No malice of forethought. No intent to intimidate. Of course, I do use my voice to intimidate people, and I know exactly what the sound of it brings into people’s minds. For mine, the safety of order and familiarity. For yours, fear. I won’t dissemble that this isn’t the most important weapon in our arsenal. I won’t apologize for who I am. Not that you’ll care, but you are aware that I have known no other life, aren’t you? Would you be happier with me if I had…” Armitage huffed a laugh. “…rebelled against my training, against my mentor, against everything I was raised to believe in, if I had clung to my conscience and fought the system? Do you expect I would be alive if I had done such a thing? 

“Perhaps. Hitting me and insulting me were all well and good for him, but killing me might have been more than my father could stand. Oh, what am I saying? He would have been glad to be rid of me. And Rae, as much as she cared for me. A threat is a threat. She didn’t abide threats. 

“Oh. I’ve not spoken to you of Rae. Grand Admiral Rae Sloane. Remember the sort of aunt I mentioned? I had to edit the stories I told you, and I thought that referring to her as my mentor, which is closer to the truth, might incite more questions. She was the consummate Imperial. Gallius Rax, that weasel that the Emperor left in charge after his death, would have liked to take all the credit from keeping what remained of the Empire from crumbling, but Rae did that. She brought us into the Unknown Regions. Rebuilt our fleet. Without her, we wouldn’t have grown enough to return. So I’m sure you would have hated her.”

````````````````````````````

_11:10 am, day 8 since breakup_

Armitage stood at the command deck, staring out at the black. So many stars and planets. So many places Poe could be at. 

A weary sigh rose and died in his throat

“General.”

He frowned, turning at the voice. Captain Peavey regarded him dubiously, like he’d been calling him for a while. Shit. Armitage stiffened, steeling his gaze, daring Peavey to comment.

```````````````````````````

_11:03 pm, day 9 since breakup_

“I miss you. I shouldn’t be saying it. These messages. It’s all so pathetic. Rae would be disgusted with me. I’m disgusted with myself. It’s been a week. I should be over you by now. Why do people go on about the wonders of love? This is heinous. It’s a fucking virus killing me from the inside. I’m angry all the time. Snapping at my subordinates. I even yelled at Kayfour, who always does everything right. 

“I was happy with you. I actually was happy. But this isn’t worth it. My path, my purpose was clear. No compunctions. No compromises. I’m exactly where I want to be. I should be. One day, Snoke will die, I’ll find a way to get rid of Kylo Ren, and I will rise as Supreme Leader of the galaxy. That’s my destiny. That’s what I want. It was Rae’s old ambition, and, after she died, I made it my own. An inheritance, if you will. Although she hardly needed to charge me with it. I welcomed it gladly.

“I have to get you out of my head. You hate corruption? Well, you’ve corrupted me. I’m like a droid with bad coding. I almost wish I was one. Then someone could simply cut out all the errors you introduced and reboot me clean. Just like new.”

````````````````````````````

_3:21pm, day 10 since breakup_

The blaster roared in Armitage’s hand as he fired at the enemy. His simulations were so lifelike that he could see the sweat on the Republic soldier’s brows, see the fear and determination in their eyes, hear their dying groans as he shot them down.

A man appeared in his scope’s range. Armitage fired, hitting him straight in the chest. The man fell, dark, curly hair hitting the ground. Armitage gasped, seeing Poe’s face. He ran to the body. 

A stranger’s face looked up at him, eyes glazed. It wasn’t Poe. Of course not. The developers couldn’t have programmed him in. 

“End simulation,” Armitage called, shaky, voice rasping in his clenching throat. 

````````````````````````````

_8:55 pm, day 13 since breakup_

“When I was twenty-four, my father’s ship went down on Parnassos. You know this, but your spy only told you what she observed, not my side of things. His ship went down. No emergency beacon. All signs pointed towards the utter destruction of the ship and its crew. I thought he was dead. That he was gone. Finally.” 

Armitage’s eyes slid shut at the sensation of freedom that had surged through him.

“No more taunts. No more loathing looks. No more having to suffer that man’s presence. I told you how Rae threatened him to stop hitting me when I was small. She beat him. He tried to cure most of his injuries before he next saw me, but his left eye was still swollen, a big, purple bruise on his cheek.”

Armitage smiled. What would Poe think of that smile at someone else’s pain? He’d be disgusted, no doubt.

“He didn’t touch me again. Nor did he speak cruelly to me for a long while, not while Rae was close by. But I still needed to be in his presence, so I could learn the family business. Which I have improved upon. You’ll probably hate me for saying that, but I’m sure you already do, anyway. My role in the First Order was set out for me since I was a child. I had no choice in it. As my father’s son, I was trained in his craft so that I would continue in his stead. That is very much a fact. But I’m determined not to lie to you anymore, so I can’t tell you that I followed my path reluctantly or that I felt a swell of moral compunction over it. I took to it as naturally as a fish to water. I was a meek child. Easily frightened. But when Gallius Rax, who was in charge of the Empire at the time, gave me control over a band of children who my father was training to be stormtroopers… Feral things. Chaotic. More dangerous than the stormtroopers we had then. I enjoyed having power over them. Until then, I had control over nothing. My father’s blood was the only thing keeping me safe in that Star Destroyer, and not even from him. No one liked me. No one ever offered me a kind word. No one had anything but disdain for me. But I had control now. These children, who had been sneering at me until Rax gave the order, eyeing me like a starved tiger stalks a fox, they were mine now. Mine to command. To order. To demand respect. I ordered one to hit another just to see if they would really obey me. They did. And I…”

Armitage’s hands fisted in his lap. Poe would hate him for this.

“I enjoyed it. I… felt… disturbed. I did. A little. Part of me thought this was wrong. But I did it. And I enjoyed it. You know my reputation. My fame for viciousness. It’s true. I’d love to tell you that it’s not, for you not to see me as a monster, but I let myself loose, that part of myself I’d only glimpsed, but never allowed to breathe, my mother’s morality holding me back. My conscience. I had one. I promise you, I did have one, but it chipped away. Evaporated in an instant. 

“This world is cruel and sharp, and if you’re not also cruel and sharp, it will eat you. Rae worried for me. She said I took it too far. That I would lose myself and never find my way back. That I was becoming that virus which she'd sought to eradicate after the fall of the old Empire. Her highest, most cherished ideal was order. Structure. Fairness. You probably find the idea ludicrous. And Imperial who believed in fair play. Well, she did. She detested scheming and corruption. The methods I employ. She was most disappointed in me when she discovered what I’d done.”

“Like I said, I was happy that my father was dead. I was free. My cage had been obliterated. No more dreading his condescension. No more scraping at his boots, salivating for just a meager scrap of respect, which he never gave. General Brendol Hux was gone, and my path was finally clear. But then, we received a distress beacon. His ship’s transponder. He was alive. My _father_ …”

Armitage spat out the word. 

“… was alive. A blaster shot to the chest wouldn’t have hurt as much as that did. I had rejoiced for precious hours in a Brendol Hux-free world, and I wouldn’t go back. Perhaps, if he’d been happy to see me… If he’d shown one ounce of fatherly affection when I took a shuttle down to the planet to pick him up… 

“But he didn’t. He only smiled at me as a show to his new friends, the natives who’d kept him alive. It was forced politeness. Nothing more. Anyone who cared to look would see the tired disdain in his eyes. You know what happened next. It was important that his death not be traced back to me. I didn’t request that his death be painful, but I was so pleased that it was. Barely a sliver of the suffering he inflicted upon me and mother. He deserved it, I assure you. And I was once again able to breathe freely. For good.

“Rae didn’t approve. She figured it out on her own. Knew that I’d wished him dead for years. Called my methods disgraceful, a stain on the institution we’d worked so hard to build. She never fully trusted me since that day. That hurt. Her opinion was the only one that mattered to me. But I didn’t regret what I did. I don’t. I would do it again. The world is better off without him, as I am.”

```````````````````````````

_12:03 am, day 17 since breakup_

Armitage had always lied alone in this bed. Not even the officer he’d had sex with had come here. That encounter had taken place on the _Absolution_. 

So why was it so lonely now? Why was Poe’s absence, when his presence had never been, so shattering?

````````````````````````````

_9:01 pm, day 20 since breakup_

“You know, it is a relief to be able to speak to you like this. No editorializing. No half-truths. I’ve always been honest with you. Always. But I have had to lie quite a bit, and it always grated at me. Now I can speak the full truth without being afraid that you’ll leave me. You already did. I have no idea why you’re still letting me message you. This one-sidedness does chafe. But I can tell you everything I wish I’d been able to.

“Of course, I would love it if you would respond. At some point. One of our reconnaissance ships recognized your X-wing and BB-8, so I know you’re alive. But I’m not holding my breath. I can’t say I don’t deserve the silent treatment. I would be just as pissed off if I were you.” 

````````````````````````

_8:56 pm, day 36 since breakup_

“That filth Kylo Ren tripped me. I could feel him sneering at me from behind that mask as he tried to fob off the blame onto an MSE, but there was no droid in front of me. I felt him yank at my leg, making me crash into that console. Is this what working with Vader was like? I hear he loved to choke and mangle officers who were just doing their jobs. He choked me once, you know. It was infuriating. And frightening. I could feel a hand pressing, but it felt like iron, not flesh. My windpipe was completely collapsed. I couldn’t breathe at all. You know what my great crime was? Pointing out that the voice modulator in that ridiculous mask he wears made him barely comprehensible. Honestly, our stormtroopers have better modulators. Clarity of speech is essential to intimidation. Since he’s so obsessed with being big and scary… He isn’t. I’ve seen pictures of Vader. Now his was a presence that commanded fear. I confess I’m glad he’s gone. Anyway, I was merely offering some constructive criticism. Well, perhaps a tad insultingly, but I can’t stand the man. 

“He hasn’t done it since. I think Snoke got him to stop. As long as Snoke finds use for me, Ren can’t get rid of me like Vader used to do. You see, I need to keep Snoke happy. I can’t slack. Can’t let him suspect that I’m compromised. That’s why I need to play this very carefully.”

```````````````````

_6:49 pm, day 42 since breakup_

The holotank of Poe’s shocking encounter with Armitage’s fleet played before him. Poe’s X-wing swooped about, barely missing TIE fighter fire. Armitage had lost count of how many times he’d seen it. He sipped a cup of tea, his third of the day. Too many. Sleep would be difficult by this rate, but what did he care? 

The holo dissipated when Poe jumped into hyperspace. Armitage pressed the Play button again.

```````````````````````````

_7:42 pm, day 51 since breakup_

“My mother did die when I was six. But I was a couple of months shy of my birthday when I last saw her, seven months earlier. When the Empire fell, there was no secure way for my father to leave Arkanis, but Gallius Rax wanted him back. And me. I was Commandant Hux’s child. His blood. The Empire needed children, else it would wither and die. But his wife wasn’t important to them. Nor was my mother. They sent a bounty hunter to get me and my father. My mother…”

Armitage sucked in a breath. It rattled in his throat. 

“She fought him. She screamed. But she couldn’t stop him from taking me. I think he knocked her out. The details get fuzzy through the years. I returned to Arkanis ten years ago, searching for her.” 

Tears pricked his eyes.

“I found her in a grave. Unidentified illness, the records said. Nothing more. No one could give me any more detail than that.”

He wiped the tears off his face and turned away from the camera for a long moment.

“I’m not telling you this to try to lure you back with a sob story. I merely feel that the story I told you when we first met was insufficient. I didn’t want to lie any more than I already did.”

```````````````````````````

_7:01 am, day 52 since breakup_

Armitage’s cup slid from his hand. It crashed on the floor, splashing hot tea on his legs.

“Shit!”

He scrambled back, comlink gripped in his left hand, gaping at the name on the screen. K. Green. That was the code name he’d given to Poe’s frequency. Swiftly, he pressed the Play button. Poe appeared in the holoprojector. He stood awkwardly, left hand shifting at his hip, fingers curling in unease. He held the comlink with his right, only his upper arm visible. His shoulders were hunched, eyes downcast for a second before looking up at the camera. Armitage gasped at the beauty of his face. That precious, longed for face.

“I am sorry about your mother,” Poe said. “Truly. I just… I didn’t want to leave that message unanswered."

The message ended. Reaching out blindly, Armitage found the sofa and slid into it. His breath was shallow, his eyes watering. Poe had been listening. He’d gotten every message. He hadn’t thrown Armitage’s vulnerability away. Armitage’s chest heaved, so much joy bursting inside him that it spilled over in a laugh. His head dropped into his hands, elbows on his knees. 

God, what had Poe done to him? One short message, that’s all it had been. One quick show of compassion. It had been five weeks. How could this love scorch his insides as fiercely as the first day? 

Armitage activated a call. Voice only. If Poe saw him like this… 

No. He wouldn’t take him back, anyway.

“Thank you,” Armitage said into the message box, despairing of how crushed and elated he sounded.


	8. Chapter 8

_7:44 pm, day 52 since breakup_

“I had wondered if you were listening to my messages at all. Some of them must have been unpleasant for you to hear. I’m so glad that you did, though. I should have stopped… a long time ago. But, if you’ll allow me to continue, I can’t seem to help myself.

“I’m very grateful for your reply today. I almost didn’t tell you that story. It’s painful to recount. But I couldn’t very well leave it out. 

“I looked through the images we took that day aboard the sunsail. I had wished to offer you the chance to ride one at Hosnian Prime, but we never had any daylight to spare. I’m very glad I took you out, despite what happened after. When I look at my face in these pictures, I hardly recognize myself. That smile. I’m not sure I’d ever smiled like that before you. Probably with my mother, but I was so small. I can’t recall. I can’t say I felt carefree, for your encounter with my fleet weighed on my mind, but I imagine that is what the sensation must feel like. Have you preserved your copies? I hope you picture me like this at times and not exclusively in my First Order uniform. Although, even in the shuttle footage, you have me smiling. I smiled at that child in the shuttle, remember? I comforted her. No one else bloody did.”

Armitage shut his eyes for a moment, realizing his faux pas.

“But you wouldn’t consider that a mercy, would you? Not from me. Not when I put her straight into the stormtrooper program. She did well. Phasma speaks highly of her.”

Armitage rubbed his forehead, shoulders slumping with weariness. 

“Look at me. Trying to stir good memories of myself in you, only to alienate you again with my work. I wish you could still smile at me the way you did in these images. Knowing that you never will again… It hasn’t actually helped. I’m afraid I’m going to need more time to detach myself from you.”

```````````````````````````````

_7:01 am, day 53 since breakup_

“ _Stormtrooper: A Memoir_ ,” Poe said in a miraculous, second message. “By Tomra Helranth. You’re probably rolling your eyes right now. Read it. Yeah, I know you and your father gave the stormtrooper program a shiny, new polish, while this guy served in the Civil War. The uniforms still all look the same to me. Also _Life Under the Empire_ by Atria Bailo. She’s a friend of mine. You want me to care about your side of things, your antecedents’ glorious past? Care about mine for a change, okay? Please.”

Armitage narrowed his eyes. Please? And with no sarcastic or cynical tone in the word, either. Poe had broken his silence once more to ask him to do something utterly ridiculous, yet the important point was that Poe had willingly spoken to him again. Armitage was confident in his convictions. Would he really allow himself to feel threatened by books? Even if they were written by a rebel and what sounded like a traitor. 

Poe was also a rebel and Armitage cared about his opinion, however much he disagreed with it at times like this. Fine. He’d download the damn books. 

````````````````````````````

_8:12 pm, day 53 since breakup_

“Alright, I’ll read the books. But please don’t expect me to have a sudden change of heart.”

```````````````````````````

_9:30 pm, day 64 since breakup_

“I finished the stormtrooper book. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it’s nothing I didn’t already know. And we have changed a few things quite a bit. Granted, it was novel to read a stormtrooper’s direct perspective on certain matters they certainly don’t speak of to their superiors.”

Armitage tapped his fingers impatiently on his right leg.

“I know what you’re trying to do. I confess, I considered for a time trying the same tactic with you. But our one political conversation went appallingly, so I gave up that prospect.”

``````````````````````

_7:02 am, day 65 since breakup_

“I’m just exposing you to different perspectives,” Poe said. “That’s all. I highly doubt you got a thorough education in that narrow-minded academy of yours.”

```````````````````````

_7:26 am, day 65 since breakup_

Armitage held up his datapad to the holocam. 

“Look. Three history books of the Civil War written by Republic enthusiasts who fought in it. Happy? And I haven’t forgotten that I still one you your friend’s book to read.”

````````````````````````

_6:58 am, day 66 since breakup_

“I am happy you’re expanding your reading list,” Poe said.

```````````````````````

_8:44 pm, day 66 since breakup_

“Your friend is an Alderaanian? Is this a coincidence, or did you pick her book so I would feel bad for her from the outset?”

This proved a most awkward subject. Since they had retreated to the Unknown Regions, the Imperial remnants that would become the First Order had begun construction on a third generation Death Star, one so massive that it dwarfed its predecessors. The threat of planetary extinction had never ceased to be a high priority. In this case, the Republic itself was to be obliterated from the outset, eliminating the First Order’s need to waste precious resources combating it. 

Although, they couldn’t be all bad if Poe had sprung from them, could they? 

Armitage shook his head at himself. He hoped that Poe would interpret it as reluctance.

“If it was the later, I admit it’s a clever ploy. Perhaps a little effective.”

Was that a bit of a lie? Or was it not? Why was it that Armitage couldn’t be sure of it himself? Poe’s gambit couldn’t be working, could it?

Of course not. Armitage missed him, and wished to continue communicating with him, which would only happen if he kept Poe from hating him completely. There was nothing more to it.

````````````````````````````

_9:04 pm, day 77 since breakup_

Armitage had finished the book two days earlier, but had been reluctant to mention it to Poe. He had never read a rebel’s memoir before. Why would he? The stormtrooper Helranth hadn’t defected until after the Battle of Endor, when the Empire had been ripped to pieces, so he hardly counted. His lamentations of guilt at the murders he’d committed hadn’t been terribly interesting, either. 

Arkanis had been home once. A flutter of nostalgia still arose whenever Armitage remembered the ancient, stone walls of the market mother took him to on Sundays. The colorful gardens he could hardly recall. A quick memory of a creeping vine and yellow blossoms came to mind, but nothing more. The familiar feel of home still clung to it like one of those vines despite having abandoned it so long ago, but it was no longer where he felt most comfortable. The _Finalizer_ was home now. He’d resided within its bulwarks for nine years. If he ever had to switch commands and leave her behind, or worse, if she was shot down (as if this masterwork of deadly artistry ever could be), he would be grievously distressed.

Yet that didn’t compare with the loss of one’s home world. Poe’s idol, Leia Organa, now his commanding officer, was the last Princess of Alderaan. Had she spoken to Poe of watching her planet be obliterated before her eyes, or could she not bear to speak of it all? If rebellion were to break out on Arkanis, so vexing that Snoke ordered Starkiller Base’s destructive beam aimed at it, could Armitage follow such a command? Could he order his home world’s, his mother’s home world’s, destruction? 

His mother’s grave, her final resting place, would be obliterated in an instant. Armitage had her body moved to a grander cemetery and ordered a new gravestone worthy of her, refusing to let her wallow in that pitiful, pauper’s grave he’d found her in. Poe’s friend spoke of the horror of searching the debris of broken Alderaan, of grieving over pieces of familiar buildings, of ships, household items, and furniture fused into miniature asteroids. One item in particular had stuck out. The wall of a mausoleum, the names of its former occupants still legible on the ripped metal. 

Armitage reached for the Call button on the comlink, then withdrew his hand, grabbing his datapad, instead. He pulled up one of the history books he’d mentioned to Poe and began to read. There was no reason why that discussion couldn’t be tabled until tomorrow, was there? 

```````````````````````````

_4:56 pm, day 81 since breakup_

“Was that you hijacking Senator Ro-Kiintor’s ship?” Armitage asked the instant that he managed to return to his chambers. “That was some impressive bit of flying. I reviewed the holotank from the Star Destroyer on the scene extensively. I can’t think of who else could made that yacht swoop like that.”

Armitage had just attended the most fascinating briefing. A most chagrined Captain Chamas had informed him via holo of her humiliating failure to rescue the turncoat senator’s yacht from pirates. Not only were the pirates flying Z-95 fighters, antiquated Clone Wars era tech, but there had only been three of them. Three pirates against an entire First Order fleet, which included no less than two Star Destroyers. Those pirates should have been eviscerated within seconds. Instead, they had run circles around the fleet, the one piloting the yacht turning and dodging in ways that the luxury vessel had most certainly not been designed for. They had even charged one of the Star Destroyers, barely avoiding its canon fire before twisting away to jump to lightspeed.

Well, didn’t this sound familiar. If the captain hadn’t begun her account with, “Senator Ro-Kiintor’s ship has been stolen”, Armitage’s heart would have clenched in his throat through the maddeningly daredevil tale. But with the knowledge that the “pirates” had evaded capture with nary a scratch, he could sit back and enjoy the latest tale of Poe’s amazing talent. 

Well, not literally sit back. None of Armitage’s enjoyment could actually show on his face. Instead, he had seethed with choler and disdain at Chamas’s pathetic performance. Three pirates in outdated ships and a rich senator’s toy laughing in the face of a First Order fleet? It was a slap in the face to their entire organization, and he let them know it most vividly. Technically, there was the slight matter of his own failure to destroy a single X-wing, but no one would dare to mention it to him. And he hadn’t actually been trying, not that anyone could know that, unlike Chamas, who he was sure had tried her best. 

Also, relocating the fleet, while annoying, had been easy enough, while Poe (for there was no doubt in Armitage’s mind that it was him), had stolen a vessel filled with First Order information. Ro-Kiintor was one of the senators that Armitage had visited on Hosnian Prime. A pompous man whose attempts at conversation were so dull that they should be officially classified as a form of torture. Yet he had been instrumental in turning funds away from the New Republic Navy, as well as preventing that his government take any action against the First Order. 

He always deleted his ship’s logs upon returning to Republic space, which was why Poe had already been lying there in wait. Ro-Kiintor claimed, a tad too growingly to be believed, that he had cleared the logs before the attack. It was a bold-faced lie. The Resistance now knew exactly where in First Order space the senator had been and what they’d spoken of, a wealth of incriminating detail that could drive a thorn into the First Order’s side, though it was hardly disastrous. If it came to open war before the Hosnian System could be extinguished, the First Order still had superior firepower, thanks to the New Republic’s imbecilic decision to demilitarize as much as possible, even before the First Order’s paid senators raised their own support for it. 

Yet hadn’t the Rebel Alliance also possessed less firepower? The history books Armitage had been reading had no qualms about emphasizing that they’d been fighting against seemingly insurmountable odds, often barely succeeding by the skin of their teeth through sheer determination and luck. Even the Imperial histories Armitage had learned from were at a loss to explain how they were dealt such a devastating blow by a pack of rabble-rousers, and warned that one must never underestimate the damage that an organized band of wounded rats could wreak. The First Order hadn’t even engaged in open warfare yet, but the rats were already gnawing at their ankles, piercing through essential sinew. This was why they were waiting (mostly) until Starkiller Base was fully operational. The military bases spread throughout the galaxy could be dispatched easily afterward, and the Resistance was tiny and weak, a mere shadow of its Rebellion predecessor. 

And yet, a wounded animal would always lash out. History in general was filled with wounded animals doing precisely that. Chaos was inevitable. The First Order, like the Empire before it, was meant to be a bulwark against such chaos, to stem the surge of entropy to a livable, orderly standard. To provide peace where nature failed. Justice and compassion were such malleable, subjective terms. 

This conviction remained in Armitage’s mind as he indulged Poe in reading the histories, even as he sifted through sorrowful recountings of massacres and other similar atrocities, many of which he had already been aware of. Of course, Armitage had been party to and even in charge of a few of his own less than peaceful conquests, as Poe well knew. Armitage had filled in details himself so that there would be no more secrets between them, so Poe could hardly expect him to be reduced to tears by these accounts.

Yet…

The Aldearaanian’s grief over her destroyed home clung to the back of his mind, piercing him like a lance at random moments, and every time he felt odd. Discomfited, like a pebble was stuck in his boot, but no matter how much he shook it, he couldn’t get it out. 

He set history aside that night, catching up on some datawork, instead, to clear his head.

```````````````````````

_8:35 pm, day 81 since breakup_

“You don’t actually expect me to answer that, do you?” Poe responded, voice only.

Armitage snorted. He replied straight away. 

“If you were hoping to mislead me by hiding your face, I’m afraid you failed.”

```````````````````````

_9:08 pm, day 81 since breakup_

Poe looked defiantly into the holocam, the glimmer of a smile in the corner of his lips.

“Your move, Armitage.”

Armitage grinned all through dinner.


	9. Chapter 9

_10:29 am, day 82 since breakup_

Kylo Ren was already waiting in the conference room when Armitage entered, pacing like a caged animal, hands curled at his sides, the right jerking every so often as if itching for his lightsaber. Trepidation crept up Armitage’s spine as he shut the door behind him, remaining close to it, as if that could possibly aid him should Ren seek a target for his disgruntlement. No one stood in the room save for the two of them, and Armitage, for once, was glad. The presence of others would hardly dissuade him from beating Armitage if he so chose, and Armitage would rather not endure the public humiliation. Snoke’s prohibition still held, he was sure, but Ren tripping him in the corridor confirmed that he wouldn’t keep petty violence at bay. 

“I take it,” Armitage said, “you’re here regarding the theft of Senator Ro-Kiintor’s ship.”

He kept his voice steady and civil for now, and held himself loosely, tempering the tension threatening to tighten his shoulders. He mustn’t give Ren the satisfaction of thinking that he could possibly make him cower. 

“There’s no doubt it was the Resistance,” Ren said, his voice modulator as gravely as ever. “They got valuable information, including this.”

Ren activated the holoprojector at the center of the table. A file appeared, along with a photograph of an elderly man with a calm face. Lor San Tekka, the file said. Armitage had heard the name before. He was a valuable lead in Ren’s pet project of finding and exterminating his uncle, the Jedi Luke Skywalker. San Tekka was a renowned traveler and student of the Force, despite not being Force sensitive himself, and thus might be able to deduce Skywalker’s mysterious whereabouts. All Armitage had been made privy to about Ren’s history with him was that Skywalker had been training Ren and a few others, Ren had turned to the Dark Side, taken some of the students, killed the others, and burned the Jedi temple. Armitage neither knew the details nor cared. The Force was of no interest to him as long as he wasn’t at the receiving end of it.

“The Resistance will be looking for Skywalker, too,” Ren said. “And now they know what we know. We must find San Tekka before they do.”

Another responsibility Armitage didn’t care about. What a bore. 

“Well, we can’t go back in time and stop them from knowing,” Armitage said. “And, so far, our efforts to locate him have been fruitless, correct? The Resistance has resources we don’t. Their own network of friends and informants. I propose that we tail them. See if they can gather any new leads for us to exploit.”

“Not a bad idea.”

 _Don’t sound so shocked, Ren._

“I’ll leave the execution to you,” Ren continued, stalking around the table. “I suggest you find him quickly. The Supreme Leader and I want this done.”

Ren leaned close to him, the eye-less black of that ridiculous mask boring into Armitage. Armitage’s eyes narrowed, not giving an inch.

“I’d hate to tell the Supreme Leader that you weren’t up to task,” Ren continued, voice darkening.

Armitage could practically hear Ren relishing the imagined violence that he’d inflict on Armitage if he failed. Armitage’s hands flexed behind his back before he forced them steady, steeling his spine and clearing his mind of anything but contempt.

“I’ll get it done,” he said, refusing to rise to Ren’s bait.

Ren loomed a moment longer.

“Good.”

He turned, sweeping out the door. 

Armitage shut his eyes, inhaling deep into his lungs. He dropped his hands to his sides. His nails had dug into his palms.

``````````````````````````````````````

_5:34 pm, day 84 since breakup_

Armitage had delegated the task to Phasma to coordinate with ISB, being far too busy with work that actually mattered to concern himself with the search directly. This is what subordinates were for, after all. She came to his office two days later to inform him that the ISB agent she’d assigned, some man called Terex, had tracked a Resistance squadron to the planet Ovanis, where they believed they would find information on San Tekka from the locals. Terex had acquired an inside man in the Resistance who planted a bug on the squadron leader’s ship. He was currently engaging the squadron.

“Who is this inside man?” Armitage asked.

“He’s been keeping that quiet, sir.”

“Find out. I like to know all the players. And what is this leader’s name?”

“Commander Poe Dameron,” Phasma said. 

Armitage offered no reaction.

“Inform me as soon as the engagement is done. And remind Agent Terex that this is a tracking mission. We’re looking for information, not dead bodies. You know how keen these ISB agents can be. Dameron is still in the Republic Navy roster, from what I recall. The time isn’t yet ripe for any unnecessary causalities.”

“Yes, sir.” 

As soon as Phasma left the office, Armitage dropped his head on the back of his seat, trapping a growl in his clenched teeth. Damn it! He should have guessed. Poe was Organa’s best pilot. Of course she would have tasked him with finding the man who would reunite her with her long lost brother. Who else could possibly be good enough for such a vital mission? Armitage had been clear with Phasma before. This was a tracking mission. Not a kill. This Terex better as hell do exactly as commanded. 

Armitage pulled up his file. He’d been a stormtrooper during the Empire. Good start. But then he’d founded a crime syndicate on Kaddak, which he’d run for nearly three decades before joining the First Order. Armitage tapped restlessly at his armrest. Men who’d grown used to being their own bosses rarely followed orders they disagreed with easily. While Terex’s expertise in collecting information and his remorseless nature made him an asset to the First Order, he was the last sort of person that Armitage wanted sniffing around Poe. 

Unease gnawed at Armitage’s gut, fingers tapping harder, wrestling with the urge to call Poe this instant, but it was already too late to warn him. First Order forces were already atop him. 

Poe would be alright. He possessed an uncanny ability to survive. He’d be fine. 

``````````````````````````````````

_7:20 pm, day 84 since breakup_

A simple tracking mission had transformed into a full on battle between Poe’s and Terex’s squadrons. Their forces claimed that one of Poe’s people had shot first, forcing the engagement. At least they could follow orders. Terex, on the other hand, had followed Poe into the cave where the locals lived and tried to force the information out of them. Somehow, two enormous, winged creatures had gotten involved, but Armitage didn’t care about that. What he did care about was how vague Terex had been about his confrontation with Poe, other than that he knew where the Resistance would be heading. The whole Resistance squadron had gotten away, so at least Poe was safe. This crucial detail was the only thing keeping Armitage from lashing out at someone until he could return to his chambers and stew in private. 

Phasma had at least been able to extract the name of the inside man from Terex. That might placate Poe. What did Armitage care about finding Skywalker? There were far more important things to do. Ren could huff and puff all he wanted, but, as long as Armitage continued to be valuable to Snoke, Ren couldn’t inflict any permanent damage. In any case, Poe might have located the tracking device already. How else would Terex have been able to find them, after all? It was easy enough to figure out. 

```````````````````````````

_7:48 pm, day 84 since breakup_

Armitage emerged from the shower to find his comlink flashing with one message and seven missed calls, all from Poe. Sucking in a nervous breath, Armitage played the message. Poe glowered at him, about as furious as expected.

“You put a fucking tracker on my X-wing? You better tell me who the hell did this. How the fuck did you get one of my people to turn? Were they a plant from the beginning? You know what, you call me the instant you get this. I need to talk to you.”

Poe hung up. Armitage gaped at the empty space where his hologram had been, frozen in place. Poe wanted a live conversation. An actual, live conversation. After so long. Granted, the purpose was to yell at Armitage to his heart’s content, but it was still a real, live conversation. His nerves wound up so tight that they might snap at any moment, Armitage called Poe. He straightened in his seat and checked that his hair was presentable, fingers tapping faster on his leg as the seconds ground by without Poe picking up.

The hologram came live. Armitage had only a moment of exultation to enjoy the sight of him before Poe spoke.

“Seriously, man, what the fuck? I thought you were making sure your people are off my back.”

“I didn’t realize it was your back, not until today.” Armitage gazed at Poe plaintively, his tone soft and apologetic. “I only ordered that whoever was looking for Lor San Tekka be tracked. Kylo Ren wants Skywalker found, and he put me in charge of it.”

“And you couldn’t say no?”

Armitage’s jaw tightened painfully at the biting snark in Poe’s voice.

“While I push back at times and don’t treat him with the deference he’d like, I can’t actually refuse one of his wishes, not when Snoke backs it. Or when he could break my bones in a fit of pique.”

Poe’s narrowed, his voice lowering.

“Did he threaten you?”

Joy burst through Armitage, heart alight with hope. Poe was concerned on his behalf. Armitage never thought he’d be so lucky again.

“He did, although that occurs about half the times that we see each other. But he is obsessed with finding Skywalker.”

Poe glanced to the side, rubbing the back of his neck, his anger shrinking into frustrated irritation, the knowledge that Armitage had only accidentally acted against him because he’d been threatened with bodily harm giving him pause. Armitage hadn’t felt so happy in weeks. It proved quite the challenge to fight off the smile itching on his lips. 

“Yeah,” Poe said, “well, you know why we can’t let you guys find him first.”

“I honestly don’t care who does. I can handle Ren if I need to. But I couldn’t simply ignore his order.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it? You want to keep me safe, but your people… I’ll always be in danger from them. From you. You’re their highest ranking officer. Snoke or Kylo Ren say jump, you jump. You have to. We’re enemies, Armitage. For how much longer do you think we can remain like this?”

Armitage’s elation faded like a firefly suddenly snuffled out. 

“I confess I haven’t given it proper thought. I thought… I’d intended to be over you by now. To move on like I always knew I must.”

“But you keep calling me.”

Poe’s gaze was softer than Armitage could have expected. Was that pity, or sorrow?

“You keep listening.”

Poe dropped his head. He sucked in a breath, releasing a weary sigh as he brushed his hand through his hair. Armitage’s muscles tightened like a bow string, dread icy in the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah, I guess neither of us wanted to let go.”

Was there hope still that they might possibly, in some small measure, reconcile?

“The spy in your camp is Oddy Muva,” Armitage said.

Poe’s gaze flew back up at him, eyes widening in shock and horror.

“Oddy? But he’s… He’s the only one I didn’t suspect. He’s so happy to be here, so earnest. There’s nothing suspicious about him at all. The complete opposite.”

“That is the mark of a good spy, Poe.”

“Shit, I know. I know.” Poe pressed his hand to his face, eyes shut. “Shit. He’s my squadron’s mechanic. We’re going to have to check every, last engine part. Are you guys holding anything over his head? Are you forcing him to do this?”

“I don’t know. That’s Terex’s doing. I’ll find out. Unless you do first.”

Poe shook his head at him, distress radiating off him.

“This is what I’m talking about. You can blame Terex or Snoke or whoever else, but you’re their general. This is all on you, too.”

Armitage’s hands twisted in his lap.

“I know how responsibility in the chain of command works.”

“I’m a Resistance pilot. That’s never going to change. We’re enemies, whether you like it or not.”

“I know that.”

“I think it’s time we started acting like it.”

Armitage’s gut clenched, breath freezing in his lungs.

“You want to break off communication completely?”

“I want you to make a decision. Me, or the First Order.”

The capacity for speech abandoned Armitage.

“You don’t want to be responsible for my death,” Poe continued. “I don’t plan on dying, but…” Poe shrugged. “Shit happens. Maybe one of your guys will kill me. Terex tried.”

“He what?”

Armitage jerked upright. His nails dug into his palms as his hands fisted at his sides, his whole body vibrating with fury. That insolent son of a bitch. Armitage knew he couldn’t be trusted to follow a simple order.

“I made it very clear that this was a tracking mission only. No killings.”

“Well, he didn’t listen.”

“I’ll make sure he does next time. I’ll take him off the mission.”

“I’d appreciate that. I didn’t like him one bit. Although I’d appreciate it more if you quit pretending that this is working.”

“The First Order has been my entire life. My whole life’s ambition. I can’t just leave.”

“Why not? You’re compromising that vision right now just by talking to me. I’m Resistance. I found your secret staging ground. I stole a ship full of your secrets. Got proof that a senator is a traitor. If you were really still 100% committed to your cause, you should want me dead. Because I won’t stop. You know I won’t. I will never change my allegiance.”

“But you think I can be swayed so easily?”

“You knew who I was the first time we spoke. You knew that. You still came with me to my apartment. If I had known who you were, things would have gone a hell of a lot differently.”

“Fair’s fair. If it came to it that you had to kill me for the sake of your cause, could you do it?”

Poe’s widened, shock overtaking his face. He looked away and crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself, a sharp sigh rattling in his chest. 

“Not face to face,” he finally said, voice barely above a whisper.

Armitage latched onto his distress, excruciating as it was to witness. If Poe truly hated him, he wouldn’t have made that admission.

“How about from afar? If you had to blow up the ship I was on to win the battle?”

Poe sighed loudly, shutting his eyes. He rubbed his face again, pacing in a tight circle.

“If I had to. I’d hate myself. I really would. But if you’d chosen to remain First Order through and through and I had to…” Poe looked like he wanted to punch himself for that admission. “There’s too much at stake. I’m sorry, I can’t let the Empire come back. I can’t.”

Breathing hurt. Armitage turned away from Poe’s pleading face, his hands anguished fists at his sides, and dedicated every ounce of his concentration to not breaking down as he forced his mouth to form words. 

“Of course. I understand completely. Can I assume that I’ll still be able to contact you?”

“Yeah.” Did Poe truly sound apologetic, or was Armitage merely imagining what he wished to hear? “For now.”

For now. Poe disconnected the call. That instant, Armitage stood up and paced all the way up and down the corridors of his chambers, replaying Poe’s words, his expressions, his reactions, every scrap of information that he could recall. There had always been a ticking chrono to this madness, yet, once again, he had hoped to delay it for as long as humanly possible. But that last tick was coming, hard and fast and implacable, and Armitage couldn’t breathe


	10. Chapter 10

_8:22 pm, day 84 since breakup_

“I forgot to tell you,” Armitage messaged Poe. “We know where you’re headed next, so you should move fast.”

```````````````````````````````

_8:30 pm, day 84 since breakup_

“Sir,” Phasma said via holo. “While Agent Terex is insubordinate, I don’t recommend removing him from the mission at this time. He has had a prior business relationship with Grakkus the Hutt, and has already paid the prison warden to let him in to speak to him.”

Grakkus was their new lead, the next person in line who might know where San Tekka was. He was currently rotting away in a prison, but buying one’s way in was easy enough. Organa would have to hurry if she wanted to get Poe in first. If Terex’s ego was bruised, he could easily set a trap for Poe. Armitage’s hands clenched behind his back. Keeping Terex wasn’t worth the risk, business relationship or not. They’d simply have to find another option.

He was about to speak when a second call came in. Shit, it was Ren.

“I’ll call you back,” Armitage told Phasma, disconnecting the call. 

Ren’s insufferable face came on. He’d actually removed that stupid helmet, for once, though Armitage would hardly call it an improvement.

“What’s the status of the investigation?” Ren demanded.

“Our agent has secured entrance to the prison.”

“Good. This Terex, he ran a criminal syndicate. Has he met the Hutt before?”

Oh, shit. If Armitage lied to him and Ren got wind of it, Snoke would excuse him inflicting a few broken bones.

“Yes. They’ve done business together.”

“So Grakkus will be more inclined to speak to him than to the Resistance. Excellent. Keep me informed.”

Ren hung up. Armitage shut his eyes, taking a few steadying breaths that did nothing to calm his panicking nerves. Feeling every inch the traitor that he was, he called Phasma back, informing her that they would be keeping Terex on mission, after all, and telling her to remind him of the dire consequences of further insubordination. He also messaged Poe, telling him that Terex was still on. He apologized, for what little good that did. Poe was right. Armitage couldn’t extricate himself from the blame. 

````````````````````````````

_9:53 pm, day 85 since breakup_

Armitage was going to kill Terex. He would hang him by his thumbs and have him whipped until his skin hung in tatters off his bones. Electrocute him until he begged for mercy, screaming, then flay him alive. 

Maybe not that last one. Too messy. But his death wouldn’t be quick. It would be slow and excruciating, and he’d know exactly why he was being slaughtered before Armitage cut off his head. 

Terex had tried to kill Poe again. Curse Ren for calling at that moment. Armitage could have easily removed Terex and avoided this whole, infuriating disaster. On top of Poe nearly dying again, the mission itself had been a catastrophic failure. Poe had broken Grakkus out of prison, not Terex, so Poe got all the information he had, while the First Order got nothing. Then Terex threw a hissy fit and destroyed the prison warden’s headquarters. The lives of the staff didn’t interest him, but what was the point of calling themselves the First Order if they weren’t going to comport themselves as such? While they rose to power, they needed the private sector they did business with satisfied with them. Blowing up a privately owned prison was disastrous PR. 

Starving to death. That would be a fitting punishment. But it would take too long. Armitage needed faster gratification than that.

````````````````````````

_6:47 pm, day 87 since breakup_

Armitage watched the holocam feed of the trooper transport that had picked up Terex. They really should have expected that the man wouldn’t come in quietly, even if the summons had been given under the guise of merely delivering a reprimand. He’d had the gall to set a trap for Poe, luring him to a cesspool of a planet. Poe had almost gotten away before crash landing with Terex’s entire, criminal fleet at his tail. Another fight had ensued, yet this one had ended much more satisfyingly. Instead of Terex killing Poe (Armitage would have to break a few extra bones for that), Poe had captured him and delivered him to the First Order commander that Armitage sent to destroy Terex’s criminal fleet. 

Armitage was watching that handover now, smiling gleefully at the infuriated enmity in Poe’s face as he dragged Terex’s supine body toward the First Order commander. Not much that Poe could have done apart from handing him over, but damn if he didn’t look fiercely gratified to do it. Yet Armitage’s enjoyment dimmed upon the second rewatch as he recognized a more somber emotion in Poe’s face. 

BB-8 stood next to Poe, scuffed, but whole. Organa’s protocol droid needed repairs and Terex had cut out its memory unit, but it could be fixed. Yet there was no mistaking the anguished grief shining in Poe’s eyes.

Armitage contacted the commander in charge of the operation. Poe’s squadron had gone in to help him, but there were only three starfighters in the air when the commander arrived. Three X-wings. L’ulo L’ampar, Poe’s old, rebel friend, who he’d grown up viewing as an uncle, flew an A-wing. 

Armitage’s eyes narrowed, the knife in his sleeve dropping into his hand. He froze the holo, rubbing the knife’s handle with his thumb as he glared at Terex’s face. The Star Destroyer carrying him would be here in three hours. He would need to be processed first, the proper datawork filed. Armitage had already filled in an execution form, all ready to be processed as soon as he released Terex from his final breath. So maybe around 11:30 he could kill him? Or how about waiting until midnight? The ancient cultures of the core worlds had all sorts of delightfully, dark stories about midnight terrors. Why not? It was only thirty minutes more. Let Terex stew a little, scheme, give him the illusion that he could talk his way out of this. 

Then Armitage would gut him like a fish.

``````````````````````````

_7:01 pm, day 87 since breakup_

“I’m sorry again for my grievous mistake in letting Terex get close to you,” Armitage messaged Poe. “I assure you, he will not be able to hassle you ever again. And, I was told that only three of your squadron were in the air when you handed him over. The A-wing was missing. If L’ulo was killed, I am very sorry. Both for his death and my part in it. I won’t skirt my responsibility again.”

``````````````````````````` 

_11:51 pm, day 87 since breakup_

The crewmember on shift in the detention area snapped to attention when Armitage entered the surveillance room, chin up, arms ram-rod straight at her side, eyes rife with nervous confusion.

“General Hux, sir,” she said.

“At ease, ensign.”

She loosened her stance a fraction, folding her hands behind her back. 

“Your shift ends at midnight, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m relieving you early. Please inform your replacement that they’re not to come in until 12:30.”

“Yes, sir.”

Still looking no less befuddled at the surprise visit, she hurried out the door. Armitage closed and locked it behind her. Before him, screens showed every cell in the block, as well as the corridors. Thankfully, Terex was currently the only occupant, so there was no danger in dismissing his surveillance personnel for forty minutes. He could have simply requested that the ensign shut down the cams in Terex’s cell, but there was always the risk that she might get curious and turn them back on while giving the outward appearance that they were shut off. 

In his cell, Terex paced, movements jerky and desperate as he took stock of the bareness of his cage. A fierce smirk blossomed on Armitage’s face, body buzzing with anticipation as he fingered his knife handle before slipping it back in his sleeve. From inside his greatcoat, he removed a metal rod about half a meter in length. It’s heavy weight could be used as a club to bash in skulls, while the end delivered a ferocious, electrical charge. If pressed to the victim for long enough, it was deadly. 

Tucking the rod back under his coat, Armitage stepped out of the room, locked it, and strode down the corridor. The stormtrooper standing guard at the cell came to attention, greeting him like the ensign earlier. 

“I will speak to the prisoner,” Armitage said. “Patrol the halls for the next twenty minutes.”

“Sir, what if you should need me?”

“I won’t. Go on.”

“Yes, sir.”

Armitage waited until the trooper’s footsteps faded down the hall before unlocking the door. Terex had slumped down on the hard slab that barely qualified as a sleeping area, his head in his hands. He jumped up when he saw Armitage. Disappointingly, he didn’t come to attention, but what could you expect from disrespectful garbage like him? 

“General Hux,” he said. “I was expecting Phasma.”

“She’s sick of dealing with you, I’m afraid, so you get me. I’m much happier to get you sorted.”

Terex smelled a threat. He took a cautious half step back, his expression finally turning properly deferential. Was it Armitage’s use of the word “sorted”? Or perhaps his gleeful tone. No, it must be the smile. The curled sneer chilling Armitage’s mouth as his grip tightened on the rod at his back.

“Sir, I’ve got the means to end the Resistance. I cut the memory core from Organa’s protocol droid—”

“I’m aware. I threw it down a garbage chute. See, data cards become useless if they’ve been fried with electricity.”

Terex’s face fell. 

“You seemed very docile in the footage from the transport,” Armitage continued. “Did you perhaps run afoul of Dameron’s astromech? I hear its quite vicious with its tazer.”

Armitage would have adored to see that. BB-8 had also saved Armitage the trouble of frying the card himself. 

“It might have,” Terex said begrudgingly, looking down as he struggled to come up with another excuse to keep breathing. 

“Not only did you not get the means to destroy the Resistance, you disobeyed my orders. Multiple times.”

“I messed up. I admit that. But what I did, I did for the First Order.”

Armitage’s jaw clenched.

“No, you didn’t.”

He extracted the rod from his coat, jabbing it into Terex’s stomach. Terex cried out, shaking as electricity surged through his body. He dropped to the floor, panting. That had been the lowest charge. Armitage needed him conscious and aware. Armitage removed his coat, placing it on the bench.

“You didn’t do it for the First Order,” Armitage said, raising the rod.

“Wait,” Terex said, arm going up defensively.

Armitage hit his arm with all his strength. Terex screamed. The bones were broken. Armitage had heard them snap. 

“You did it for yourself.”

Armitage hit his ribs. Terex yelled again, grimacing in pain. 

“You wanted Dameron dead. That’s why you set a trap for him. Did I not make it crystal clear that you were not to kill him? Not to kill any of them?”

Armitage smashed his torso again. Terex lay twisted on the floor, tearful eyes barely opening to meet Armitage’s furious gaze. Armitage’s hand was hard as iron on the rod, his body shaking as he raised it again.

“Please,” Terex begged, his voice a pathetic whine. “I’m still useful. I have connections in the underworld. Information you need. I’m more valuable to you alive.”

“I don’t need you. It was a mistake to hire you in the first place. One which I’m about to rectify.”

Dropping the rod, Armitage gripped his knife and drove it into Terrex’s gut. Terex gasped, eyes wide. He grabbed at Armitage’s wrist with his hale hand. Armitage ripped it off and kneeled on it.

“I don’t understand,” Terex said, blood flecking his lips. “Dameron is a threat. I was doing you a favor.”

Growling, Armitage dug his fingers into Terex’s throat, twisting the knife. Terex’s scream vibrated on Armitage’s hand.

“A single hair off Poe Dameron’s head is more valuable than the entirety of you. He is not to be touched by you, by anyone. The instant you tried to take his life, your own was forfeit.”

Armitage stabbed him again, digging deep. Terex shuddered, gritting his teeth, tears of agony slipping from his eyes. Yet he still managed to gather enough infuriating energy to speak as he frowned at Armitage in disbelief.

“Are you in love with that rebel?”

Armitage drew out the knife. Terex gasped, grimacing.

“Yes, I am. I would burn down the entire First Order to save that man.”

Releasing Terex’s throat, Armitage slashed his windpipe. That would put an end to his insufferable talking. Terex writhed on the floor, pressing a hand to his throat, but it would do him no good. The gut wound alone would kill him. Stepping back a few paces, Armitage took a cloth from his pocket and cleaned the knife and his hand. His body still quivered with adrenaline as he paced in the small confines of the cell, but it slowly eased as he watched Terex bleed out on the floor like a sad, shriveled worm. The process was slow and agonizing, yet oh, so satisfying. Terex’s movements gradually slowed, his ragged breathing fading, until he lied still in a pool of crimson. 

Putting on his coat, Armitage buttoned it over his blood stained jacket. He combed his hair, making sure every strand was in its place, then picked up the rod, and breathed at ease for the first time in months as he strolled out the door.

``````````````````````````````

_6:38 am, day 88 since breakup_

“I’ve made my decision,” Armitage messaged Poe. “I refuse to put you in danger any longer. I’m giving it up. I’ll give it all up for you.”


	11. Chapter 11

_12:02 pm, day 88 since breakup_

Armitage poured himself a second cup of tea. The late night had most certainly been worth the sluggish tiredness in his limbs, but the thrill of exacting vengeance on Poe’s behalf had left him too wired to sleep without the aid of his sleeping pill, not to mention the momentous and nerve-wracking decision to abandon everything he’d worked for his entire life. For a man. The most beautiful, magnificent man in the galaxy, certainly worthy of such a previously unthinkable sacrifice. Yet it had still thrown him for a loop how ardently he meant his final words to Terex. If keeping Poe safe meant destroying his ambition and his pride, he’d do it. Happily. It didn’t matter anymore whose philosophy represented the best chance for the galaxy. And perhaps they were both doomed to fail. How much good could it do in the end to slow down the insurmountable crawl of entropy? Chaos truly was inevitable, and would spring under the First Order as much as under a Republic. Humans were stubborn and unreasonable. Look how quickly insurrection had arisen right after the Empire’s inception. The First Order wasn’t even known yet outside the Unknown Regions before Organa began organizing her Resistance. Starkiller Base could blast all the rebellious planets out of existence, but what would be left to rule? 

Armitage took a sip from his cup. Maybe his rambling thoughts were just spouting nonsense to justify his betrayal. The acquisition of control had always been his primary, guiding principle, yet he had believed in the First Order’s ideals once. Not as vehemently as Rae, admittedly, but he had tried to do her proud in his results, if not with his less than proper methods. He still found Poe’s faith in a fair and good and effective Republic naïve and misguided. But Poe was his guiding principle now, so if Poe chose to throw in his lot with sentimental idealism, then… Well, damn it all, Armitage would, too.

Armitage shook his head at himself. What had Poe turned him into? 

_Always be on the side of what is going to happen anyway._

That had been one of Rae’s mottos, taken from a deranged cyborg whom she’d gladly thrown to the dogs, but it was good advice, all the same. No matter how hard Armitage had fought against it, what was going to happen was this: 

Armitage would be in love with Poe. He would value Poe’s life and happiness above everything else. And inevitable chaos would prevent the First Order’s principles from reigning true. Really, why had Armitage bothered to struggle so hard against the obvious in the first place?

``````````````````````````

_12:26 pm, day 88 since breakup_

“Lor San Tekka has been imprisoned in Cato Neimoidia,” Phasma said.

Well, so much for Armitage’s post-vengeance buzz. Why couldn’t the man have stayed buried until he was no longer Armitage’s problem?

“Why, pray tell?” he asked.

“He tried to steal an item from one of the baron’s vaults. He’s to be tried and executed within the day.”

“Well, then, send someone to buy him out. I’m sure they’ll prefer credits to a dead corpse.”

“I’ll get right on it, sir.”

Poe would be put out if the First Order nabbed San Tekka first, but there really was nothing that Armitage could do about it. Once they had Skywalker’s location, Armitage would share it with Poe, anyway. 

`````````````````````````````

_4:11 pm, day 88 since breakup_

Never mind sharing the location with Poe. The Resistance had just grabbed San Tekka from under their nose. The First Order ship, a civilian spacecraft since Cato Neimoidia lied well into New Republic space, had almost missed them entirely. The Resistance must have heard about San Tekka hours before the First Order did to hatch this escape plan and spirit him away so quickly. Armitage knew nothing more than that Organa had arrived on the planet with the pretense of storing some gowns, had created some diversion with X-wings and the baron’s vulture droids, had changed her mind about the safety of the baron’s facility, and left. After she did, it was discovered that San Tekka had disappeared from his cell.

Yet the First Order ship had managed to throw a tracker onto the nearest X-wing, a white and blue model. Not Poe’s ship, but Armitage didn’t let himself relax as he reviewed what little footage their spacecraft had managed to acquire. Poe’s personal ship had crash landed only yesterday, so, if, he’d been on the scene, it was on a different ship, and Organa wouldn’t leave her top pilot behind. And lo and behold, BB-8 was riding on precisely that X-wing, which meant that the pilot was most certainly Poe, and the Resistance could be mere minutes away from having its secret base blown to bits without there being a damn thing that Armitage could do to stop it. 

Armitage would be lucky to be able to warn Poe before he was ordered to bring all the firepower he had against the base and pulverize it. Not Starkiller Base. Not before they destroyed the Hosnian System. A planet blowing up would alert the New Republic immediately. But a dreadnought could blast through any shielding the Resistance had and incinerate them all in seconds. Even taking into account travel time to the base, and if Armitage was able to alert Poe beforehand, the Resistance would barely be able to get themselves out. Anything that they didn’t have time to grab, what few resources they had, would be ash, the Resistance crippled, possibly irreparably. And just mere hours after Armitage had promised Poe not to put him in danger again.

Poe hadn’t replied to Armitage’s message, a disconcerting development, although it was entirely possible that he’d been too busy to check his messages on his personal comlink. Lack of time. Always this damn lack of time. 

Ordering the communications officer on the bridge to inform him the instant that the X-wing dropped out of lightspeed, Armitage hurried to his chambers and called Poe. The comlink rang. 

And rang.

No answer. Had Poe left the comlink back at his base? No, he wouldn’t be so irresponsible, not when the comlink granted him a direct link to a First Order general. It mustn’t be functioning properly. Oh, that was a million times worse. Armitage left a message, anyway, just in case that by some miracle Poe was able to receive it.

“Poe, there’s a tracker on the X-wing you flew today. Don’t go to your base. We will know exactly where you are the moment you drop out of hyperspace.”

Armitage kept calling to no avail, pacing around his rooms in frantic, panicked circles, his head pounding, comlink clutched in his hand, jumping at the slightest sound that so much as resembled the chirp of an incoming call. 

``````````````````````````

_6:01 pm, day 88 since breakup_

“The X-wing has arrived on Jakku,” Captain Peavey told Armitage on the bridge. 

Jakku? The Resistance would never have set up camp in that ignominious wasteland. It was far too well known for their secretive purposes, which meant that he could relax his aching muscles the tiniest bit. Armitage had gone back and forth from his rooms to the bridge for the last three hours, during which time he had consumed enough tea to keep him awake for two straight days. The herculean effort of preventing his fingers from shifting at his back was tantamount to torture, as was his focus on maintaining an expression of eager alertness instead of terrified panic. While he was almost certain that no loyalty officer would dare question one as high ranking as him, those vile parasites were constantly on the prowl, sniffing around for the slightest wisp of a treacherous thought like sharks seeking blood. 

“Set a course for Jakku, ”Armitage said.

“Yes, sir.”

Orders and calculations buzzed around him as he strode down the bridge towards a console, pulling up the tracking signal. The beacon pulsed just within Jakku’s atmosphere. This ugly, brown sore in the galaxy was a cesspool of a planet, inhabited by junkers who scrapped clean the fallen ships from the final battle of the Civil War. Armitage had hoped to never see that wretched waste again. He’d never actually set foot on it, but its orbit had been the last place where he’d been weak, a sniveling, little boy terrified of his own shadow. Yet it had also been the place of his rebirth, where he’d traded tears for glorious satisfaction upon finally having control for the first time in his life as those wild children beat each other at his command.

Was this where San Tekka lived, or was Poe there for another reason? Either way, the base was safe, but the knot of worry in Armitage’s stomach was far from dissolved.

“Ready for hyperspace jump in three,” one of the crew called through the intercom. “Two. One.”

The ship lurched forward, every surface rattling, then settling back to stillness as the stars bent and elongated into long streaks. Armitage never lost sight of the tracking signal as the X-wing’s destination became clear. A canyon on the southern hemisphere. A village called Tuanul was situated on a mesa to the east. A quick search in the database revealed that it was a colony established by something called the Church of the Force. Armitage rolled his eyes. Of course it was. San Tekka was all about how great the Force was, wasn’t he, despite being unable to wield it himself. Why anyone without those mystical powers bothered preoccupying themselves with them on any level was beyond his comprehension.

Armitage stiffened as he felt as much as heard those vexing footsteps behind him. He always kept his mind carefully devoid of any thoughts disloyal to the First Order as much as possible when outside his chambers, burying preoccupation over Poe with some work matter. But he’d still appreciate at least some warning before wannabe Vader skulked up to him.

“Not the base, then,” Kylo Ren said, standing beside him by the console. 

The proximity made Armitage’s skin crawl. He made sure to project it as unmistakable disdain. 

“Obviously not. They must be giving San Tekka a ride home.”

“It doesn’t matter. We’ll get their base later. We finally have Lor San Tekka. He won’t be able to escape this time. Nor will Luke Skywalker.”

Loathing burned in Ren’s voice, as vicious and venomous as a lick of his lightsaber. What exactly had Skywalker done to him? The man had always been the subject of mystery, a living legend, so it was immensely difficult even to hazard a guess, especially considering his and Ren’s familial connection. Armitage didn’t actually care, but the vehemence with which Ren hungered to kill him did pique his curiosity at times. 

But there would be time to wonder later. Ren mercifully stalked off the bridge back the way he came. Armitage waited a minute, checked the corridor, then walked to the front of the bridge until his vision was filled only with star streaks on their pale blue backdrop of hyperspace. Only then did he allow himself to hope, only the faintest murmur, that Poe left before they arrived.

`````````````````````````

_9:25 pm, day 88 since breakup_

The Finalizer jerked out of hyperspace, dropping them above that sorry excuse of a planet. Armitage scowled. Poe better as hell not die on it. It had been three hours since Poe arrived, and yet the tracker still showed its location as Jakku, and if Poe had found the tracker, he would have destroyed it, so what the fuck was Poe still doing here? He’d had more than enough time for San Tekka to tell him where every single Force user in the galaxy lived by now. Perhaps San Tekka invited Poe for dinner and Poe had found it so very impolite to refuse. Or maybe they’d become embroiled in a fascinating, philosophical debate over the Force. What was it? 

Armitage was not panicking. He couldn’t afford to panic, only allowing himself the luxury to be infuriated and annoyed. At not discovering the secret location of the Resistance base, of course. Damn it, he should at least look a little happy that they’d finally found San Tekka, shouldn’t he? But what did he care about the man? Nothing. This was all Ren’s little, side project. Everyone knew that. So Armitage’s resting murder face would have to do. Attempting the pretense of satisfaction was more than he could give as Poe sat cluelessly down below with Ren snapping at his heels. Two trooper transports were heading down now, soon to be followed by Ren’s shuttle at any moment. 

If Ren caught Poe… 

If he detected Armitage in his mind…

Their deaths wouldn’t be quick. They’d be as excruciating as Terex’s had been, only they wouldn’t even have the dignity of privacy. Only a public execution would do for the treacherous general and the Resistance pilot who had turned his heart. Their agony would be broadcast across the entire fleet, their dying screams a bloody warning for those who even dared to consider betraying the First Order. 

Ren’s shuttle zoomed by, a bird of prey, talons out to snatch a hapless mouse. Armitage suppressed a shudder. 

_Please be watching, Poe. Please see the ships before they get to you._

Minutes dragged by like a nail scrapping on steel. Armitage’s body itched for movement, to pace, to yank at his hair, to scream. He left the viewport, back straight, face clear, steps measured and vehemently not rushed. He yearned for the safety of his office, but he couldn’t leave the bridge now, not in the midst of an engagement. He stopped in front of the same console as before, the unpleasantness in his face dissuading anyone from coming near. The exterior holocam footage from the transports and the shuttle appeared on the screen before him. The transports were almost there, the village spread out before them, inhabitants scurrying to take defensive positions. The X-wing showed up to the right at the edge of the settlement. 

A figure ran toward it. Poe and BB-8, white metal gleaming under the transport’s exterior lights. They jumped into the X-wing just before the first transport landed, stormtroopers marching out, firing at the villagers. If Poe and BB-8 took off this instant, they just might be able to make it. 

_Come on, Poe. Come on._

A blaster shot ripped through the X-wing’s thruster. 

No! 

Armitage clenched his hands at his back, biting down on a gasp. Poe couldn’t take off. He could run into the desert and get lost in the confusion. They’d probably catch him, but he could try. The cam only showed the left side of the X-wing. Armitage saw Poe climbing out to the right, out of frame. What was he doing? Was he running? 

Poe ran into frame, rifle in hand. God damnit, Dameron! Get away now! BB-8 wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Poe had probably told them to run, while he stayed and committed suicide by playing hero. In a ship, Poe could get out of anything, but on the ground? He couldn’t win this. He’d take out a few stormtroopers before getting shot, at the most. So would die the great Poe Dameron.

This wasn’t happening. This was not happening. Armitage couldn’t see Poe. He’d ducked behind something. Blaster shots emerged from his position. Armitage pulled up the shuttle’s footage. It was nearly on the ground now. That figure huddled at the top, right corner. Was that Poe? 

The shuttle landed. Poe was lost again. Ren disembarked and talked with San Tekka. The cam’s audio sensor barely caught their exchange, but Armitage didn’t pay attention, frantically searching for Poe. It was too late to run, but if he still could…

Ren’s lightsaber ignited. He slashed through San Tekka. 

What the hell was that? This whole clusterfuck of a search, Poe almost dying three times, probably dying now, to find this man, and Ren just offed him after two seconds? If Armitage got so much as a glimmer of a chance, he was putting a blaster shot through Ren’s skull. 

A blaster shot rang out, headed straight for Ren. Raising his right hand, Ren arrested it in midair. Along with Poe. 

Oh, God, please no. Why was Poe standing out in the open? Why had he fired at Ren? That shot could have never made its mark. Avenging a man he’d just met wasn’t worth his life!

Troopers dragged Poe forward, forcing him to kneel before Ren. Ren crouched down to him. Armitage couldn’t breathe. 

“So who talks first,” Poe said. “I talk first? You talk first?”

What the fuck was he doing?! 

_Poe, don’t get insolent with a man who can kill you with a flick of his wrist!_

“The map,” Ren said. “The old man gave it to you.”

He did? 

“It’s really hard to understand you with all the apparatus.”

_Poe, shut up!_

The troopers searched Poe, finding nothing. Poe obviously gave the map to BB-8, whom they hadn’t found yet, but Ren didn’t know that. He hadn’t seen it in Poe’s mind. No orders had been given to find a droid, so BB-8 was safe. The troopers were dragging Poe toward the shuttle. Ren was bringing Poe to the _Finalizer_ for interrogation. He wasn’t killing him. Poe was still breathing. He would keep breathing until he made it here, to Armitage’s ship. Unless he said something else to piss off Ren. Please stay quiet, Poe. Please. 

The troopers fired at the villagers. With the overhead angle of the cam, Armitage couldn’t get a good look at Poe’s face as they pushed him up the boarding ramp, but he heard his horrified, “No!” as he looked back. Armitage switched to the interior cams. They shoved Poe into a seat, handcuffing and strapping him in. His face was a mess of sickened fury and grief. A pang stabbed Armitage’s heart, ripping through him. Loathing consumed him as Ren knocked into Poe on his way to the cockpit. He would pay for this. Armitage would make sure of it. 

But first, keeping Poe alive. So far, Ren always left interrogations to someone else, but finding the uncle he hated was at stake. Would he make an exception in this instance? However, he wasn’t currently interrogating Poe, so they might get very, very lucky. 

“Lieutenant Mitaka.”

The lieutenant rushed beside Armitage.

“Yes, sir?”

“Go down to the interrogation level and inform them that they are to place the prisoner in one of the rooms, in a chair, but they’re not to activate it or make any inquiries until I get there. I’ll handle this myself.”

“Right away, sir.” 

The man hurried away. Ordering that Poe be put in one of the interrogation chairs made bile rise in Armitage’s throat, but appearances must be strictly maintained for this to work. 

But then what? How was he to get Poe off the ship and to safety? And what about BB-8? They were alone in a planet that specialized in tearing machines to pieces, leaving them in as much danger as Poe, even more since Armitage couldn’t do a thing to help them. 

Muran. L’ulo. Doubtlessly others in the Resistance. Would BB-8 also now join the dead? Could Poe possibly forgive that much?


	12. Chapter 12

_10:31 pm, day 88 since breakup_

The shuttle arrived at the hangar. Armitage observed from the command platform overhead, wishing that he were down there, but he couldn’t risk Poe reacting at the sight of him. Weariness leeched through him. Three months since that wonderful day at Mirrin Prime, and this is how they met each other again. With Poe his prisoner on the ship he reviled Armitage for being proud of. 

The boarding plank came down, and two stormtroopers emerged in parallel, then Poe, flanked by two more. Armitage’s breath froze, every inch of him taut. Poe yanked at the trooper’s hands on his arms, looking around. Once again, his face was too far away to read properly, but as his head turned this way and that, he ceased fighting the troopers who led him away, as if he was too stunned by the sight to protest. Armitage pursed his lips. Was Poe finally afraid? In his X-wing, he could always finagle some means of escape. On Jakku, he might have clung to the illusion of one, but here, in the belly of a Star Destroyer, alone in a sea of enemies, getaway seemingly impossible, had panic finally begun to fester within him? 

Raising his chin, Armitage strode off the command deck and to his office. Poe wasn’t alone. He had Armitage, and Armitage would spirit him away from here. 

Being so exclusively focused on Poe in the footage earlier, Armitage had almost missed a crucial detail which might prove to be their salvation. There was only one way for Poe to get off the ship. On a TIE fighter. An escape pod would be shot down immediately. And there was no chance of him being able to hop aboard a TIE without an escort. Every corridor and almost every room on the _Finalizer_ was under constant surveillance, rendering sneaking around from the interrogation sector to the hangar an impossibility. Armitage would cut the feed to the interrogation room, like he had in the detention cell, before he spoke to Poe, but that was his prerogative. However, if he made his deception blatantly obvious by reactivating the feed only after secreting Poe from the room, he’d be better off going with Poe in the fighter before Ren used him for lightsaber practice. Armitage couldn’t both escort Poe to safety and remain on the _Finalizer_ , and it was vital that he remain, or Poe’s precious Republic would be charred to ash. 

In his office, Armitage pulled up the footage from Jakku, searching for that vague recollection. 

There! After Ren had given the order to execute the villagers, one of the stormtroopers lowered their blaster and shook their head, refusing to take innocent lives. Their insubordination had even caught Ren’s attention, although Ren seemed content to let the matter go. Armitage zoomed in on the trooper’s helmet. FN-2187. One of the top students in Phasma’s latest, graduating class, yet she had expressed concerns of late. FN-2187 had been letting his attachment to his fellow trooper’s override the importance of his mission in the battle simulations, as well as showing reluctance to kill civilians, even fictitious ones. In Phasma’s last report, she noted that he had refused to shoot civilians full stop in his latest exercise. Live action on Jakku was to be his proving ground. He’d failed spectacularly. 

Armitage lounged back in his chair, grinning from ear to ear. Under any other circumstances, he’d be quite put out by this dark mark in his method’s record, but, right now, this was precisely what he needed. A person on this ship who clearly wanted out. It should be no problem to encourage an immediate defection, especially when the alternative was execution for disobeying orders. Armitage searched for the trooper’s location in the ship, using the tracker that every stormtrooper bore in their helmet. He’d have to make sure to disengage that before FN-2187 left. The trooper was already in the interrogation level, loitering about while pretending to patrol. Was he having the same notion?

Armitage signaled his comlink.

“FN-2187, report to room 276-D.”

The trooper startled on camera. 

“Yes, sir.”

A valiant attempt, but he couldn’t quite disguise the spooked apprehension in his voice, the sure mark of a guilty man. Clearing the screens, Armitage headed down to the room he’d specified. It was a storage closet, but free of cams, and with no means of exterior communication, so it would do.

```````````````````````

_10:45 pm, day 88 since breakup_

“Remove your helmet,” Armitage ordered FN-2187.

The hesitancy with which the trooper had arrived here, observed via Armitage’s datapad, had further confirmed his suspicions, but he needed to see the trooper’s face, to gauge his expressions and hear the true cadence of his voice. Although Armitage had to take into account that any of his subordinates, especially such a low ranking one, would be nervous at suddenly being ambushed by him while surrounded by office supplies. So he couldn’t be certain how much of the tension in FN-2187’s face was due to that and how much to fear that Armitage might be aware of his failure in Jakku. 

“Why were you in the interrogation level?” Armitage asked. “That’s not your assignment.”

FN-2187 took a second too long to respond, mouth opening before he had concocted a proper excuse.

“Never mind,” Armitage said. “I can already smell the lie. Captain Phasma informed me about your deplorable performance lately. And I saw the security footage tonight. You didn’t fire on the villagers, despite being ordered to.”

FN-2187’s eyes widened in fear.

“Crisis of conscience, is it?” Armitage continued. “I suppose you’re looking for some way to get off this ship, since you’ve decided that our methods aren’t to your taste.”

“Sir, I’m loyal to the First Order.”

“If you were truly loyal, you would have fired as commanded.”

“General, I swear to you—”

“That’s enough protestations. We don’t have time for them. I’m not going to execute you or throw you in the brig, or do anything nasty to you. You are exceptionally lucky that I’m in dire need of someone with your reservations right now.”

FN-2187 frowned, utterly befuddled.

“Sir? I don’t understand.”

“You don’t know how to fly. You need a pilot. And I need to get that Resistance pilot out of here, but I need someone to escort him to a TIE fighter, and it can’t be me. So it will be you.”

“Is this… Are you testing my loyalty, sir? Because none of this makes any sense.”

Frustration ripped up in Armitage’s spine, every second that Poe spent here steering him further away from safety. 

“Why would I bother concocting such an idiotic loyalty test? I have far better things to do with my time, which I’m very short on right now. I’m going downstairs to speak to the prisoner and tell him the plan. Then I’ll return here. You will go to him, say that Kylo Ren wants you to take him somewhere, then escort him to a TIE fighter. He’s the best pilot, so you’ll get out alive.”

FN-2187 was still staring at him like he’d grown two heads.

“Are you secretly working with the Resistance? Sir?”

No. 

_Oh, come off it, Armitage._

Armitage stalked into the trooper’s space, lowering his voice to an ominous growl.

“If you blow my cover, no matter where in the galaxy you’ve buried yourself, I will find a way to end you. Is that understood?“

FN-2187’s brow smoothed out a bit.

“Respectfully, sir, that’s the first thing you’ve said that’s made any sense. Coming from you, I mean.”

Armitage sneered.

“Good. So, are you done thinking that this is some elaborate scheme? Can we move on with the plan?’

FN-2187 nodded, frowning again.

“I guess so. Even if it’s not true, I’m already doomed, aren’t I?”

“Precisely. I’ve disabled your comlink so you won’t feel tempted to turn me in while I’m gone. I’m also locking you in.”

FN-2187 shrank onto a line of shelves to let him pass as Armitage strode to the door. 

````````````````````````````

_10:48 pm, day 88 since breakup_

Armitage’s back had been tensing even tighter with every step he took. He’d shut his eyes in the turbolift, his breath jagged and panicky before he smoothed it out, his face back to its necessary mask. How would Poe react to seeing him in his First Order uniform, on his Star Destroyer, holding him captive? Armitage had intended for their reunion to take place on some planet away from all this with Poe free and safe, not this sickening imprisonment. 

The stormtroopers on guard by the room straightened when they saw him.

“Open the door,” Armitage said. 

They did so. Poe lied inside, strapped to the chair, alone. Armitage kept him in his peripheral vision, careful not to look at him directly, his hands clenching behind him.

“I’m not to be disturbed,” Armitage said.

“Yes, sir.”

The instant the door whooshed closed behind him, Armitage rushed to the controls to release Poe from the chair. It wasn’t an actual chair, more a semi-vertical slab with fetters for the wrists and ankles, which delivered charges of electricity similar to the rod that Armitage had used on Terex, only much more vicious. Only once he heard the shackles click lose did he dare look at Poe properly. His hair was a tousled, filthy mess, and his face smoldered with outrage and so much revulsion that Armitage gasped. Poe scrambled off the chair, glaring daggers at him.

“Is this your ship?” Poe asked. “The _Finalizer_?” 

He spit out the word as if it were acid eating through his tongue. 

“Yes.”

Armitage’s voice shook. 

“They killed everyone,” Poe said. “The whole village. Kylo Ren cut down Lor San Tekka right in front of me. Those people had done nothing. They were innocent. And you, your stormtroopers killed them.”

Poe’s voice rose to a shout. He stalked toward Armitage, raised finger jabbing toward Armitage’s chest. He didn’t make contact, his movements only threatening to, and that was the worst part. 

“Don’t you dare try to squirm out of this,” Poe continued. “That you weren’t there. That Kylo Ren ordered it.”

“I’m not. I admit it, alright? I accept responsibility. I should never have tried to downplay my part in things just to try to get into your good graces. I’m sorry.”

Poe paused, at a sudden loss for what to do. He lowered his hand, frowning at Armitage in close assessment, trying to dig out a lie in Armitage’s words.

“You’re really going to take responsibility for what you’ve done?”

“Yes. I said so in one of my last messages to you, but I take it that you didn’t get it.”

Poe shook his head.

“That comlink got damaged when I crash landed when Terex attacked me. Some stuff works, but others don’t. Calls must not have been getting through.”

Oh. So that’s why Poe hadn’t been answering.

“Of all the rotten times for it to break.” Armitage tapped at his right leg. “I called you non-stop trying to warn you that we were coming. Why were you still here? You could have left hours ago.”

Anger flecked Poe’s eyes again, mixed with anguished heartache.

“San Tekka invited me to dinner. Now he’s dead.”

Armitage sighed, looking away. He yearned desperately to reach out to Poe and hold him, but Poe would never accept his comfort again.

“I’m leaving,” he said instead. “As soon as the time is right, I’m leaving the First Order.”

Poe gaped at him, eyes widening in shock. Then they narrowed, sharp with suspicion.

“You better not be lying to me right now.”

“I’m not, I swear to you. I made my decision. I choose you. I’m an idiot for ever thinking that I could choose anything else.”

“You’re really sure? Your life’s work, your position… You won’t regret walking away from that? There’s no turning back. If you do this, that’s it.”

Armitage frowned. 

“I would have thought you’d be happy, not trying to convince me to stay.”

“I’m not doing that. I want to make sure that you won’t change your mind later.”

“And what? Betray the Resistance like I’m betraying the First Order?”

Poe looked away, his silence and tense, crossing arms confirming it. Armitage sighed, weariness weighing down every inch of him.

“I won’t,” he said.

“What if I’m dead?”

Armitage sucked in a breath, the terror of that possibility wracking through him.

“What?” 

“You’re leaving because of me. If I die, there goes your motivation. So what would you do?”

Watch the galaxy burn as the First Order and the Resistance eviscerated each other sounded appealing. 

“If you’re… dead, I presume the First Order killed you, in which case, I would devote myself even more vehemently to their obliteration. I’m not doing this by halves, Poe. I won’t pretend to have been converted to your ideals, but as I’m determined not to betray you in life again, neither will I betray your memory.”

Poe considered this, his silence putting Armitage’s teeth on edge. Then Poe did what Armitage had never dreamed he’d again. He reached forward, took Armitage’s face in his hands, and tugged him down. Armitage’s breath left his lungs. 

Poe was touching him. Poe was actually touching him. He didn’t press their foreheads together, instead keeping himself half a foot away, staring into Armitage’s eyes, probing, trying to find a lie in his face, the intensity of his gaze so overwhelming that Armitage nearly glanced away just to be able to breathe again. Hands shaking, he ripped off his gloves and grabbed Poe’s hands. Poe probably didn’t want him to, but he didn’t move away, didn’t shift a muscle. He let Armitage curl his fingers at the juncture of Poe’s own, his pinkies wrapping around his wrists. Armitage’s eyes nearly closed again at the wondrous sensation, but he forced them to stay locked on Poe’s, to regard the particular way that Poe frowned, as if unsure how to feel, how his lips pressed firmly together before smoothing out, how his eyes softened with acceptance as he glanced at Armitage’s hands on his own. Hope burst inside Armitage, so strongly that he felt lightheaded. He squeezed Poe’s hands involuntarily, breath whistling through his teeth, but he didn’t dare ask. 

“You realize,” Poe said, his tone softer, almost apologetic. “You doing this doesn’t mean I’ll take you back.”

The fire in Armitage’s chest died, obliterated by this cold, splash of water. Poe’s hands slid away. In his head, Armitage screamed, but he didn’t try to hold on. He finally looked away, unable to bear Poe’s now pitying gaze. 

“I don’t expect you to.” 

It took all of Armitage’s will-power to keep his sorrow from his voice. He’d done this to himself. If he were in Poe’s shoes, would he even suffer his presence?

“Will you, at least,” Armitage continued, folding his trembling hands behind his back, “still speak to me? Have some sort of… relationship isn’t the right word.”

“No, it works. We never stopped having something, did we?”

Poe shifted his arms, unsure what to do with them, finally crossing them over his chest.

“I will,” Poe continued. “I won’t shut you out.”

“You don’t have to interact with me, you know. My defection isn’t conditional.”

Poe rubbed his forehead with his thumb.

“Isn’t it, though? The First Order or me. Those are the choices I gave you. It doesn’t work if I remove myself from the equation.”

“The First Order or not killing you. Or trying, indirectly or not, to get you killed. The shame of that is enough to get me to leave.”

Shame that had clung to him like a poisonous fungus through their entire relationship. His real justification for returning to Poe’s apartment after storming out, knife in hand, picturing it slicing Poe’s back, stealing his life. That foulest of imagined crimes he had never confessed to in his messages. Some truths were too loathsome, too lethal to be spoken out loud, too horrifying to be forgiven. Armitage would carry that dishonor to the grave, burying it deep, but would never allow himself to forget. Never would be come so close to making such a grievous mistake again. 

Poe nodded to himself. He seemed gratified by Armitage’s response, but Armitage was probably imagining it. 

“I appreciate that,” Poe said. “Still. I’m not cutting you off.” His eyes narrowed, voice growing harsh. “But if you break my trust again, ever, we’re done. No more second chances. You understand?”

Armitage nodded. 

“Yes, completely.”

“Good.”

Poe released a long, fatigued exhale. He dropped his hands to his hips.

“So what’s this about you needing to wait for the right time to leave?”

Armitage drew out his datapad from his pocket and pulled up the schematics for Starkiller Base. He handed the datapad to Poe. Poe blanched, gaping between the screen and Armitage.

“This looks like a Death Star,” he said, horrified. 

“Five times bigger, actually.” Poe’s eyes widened even further. “And far deadlier. It’s called Starkiller Base. Construction began as soon as what remained of the Empire retreated to the Unknown Regions. It’s a planet converted into a base. Obviously, it doesn’t move, but it doesn’t need to. It’s destructive rays can reach any celestial body in the galaxy, and can hit up to four of them at a time if they’re close together, like a planetary system.”

“Like… the Hosnian System.”

“Yes.”

“They’re going to blow up the Republic.”

“Very soon. I’ve been telling Snoke that’s it’s not quite ready yet to do the job, but it is. And I can’t keep lying for much longer. It’s an immense risk every time I do. I was waiting for you to reply to me to tell you the coordinates and find some way to give you the plans.” 

Armitage pulled out a datacard from his pocket and gave it to Poe, who immediately secured it in a zipped, jacket pocket. 

“Okay,” Poe said, stiffening his resolve, though dismay still gleamed in his eyes. “So we’ll blow it up. But it’ll be shielded. So… That’s why you can’t leave yet. So you can take down the shields.”

Armitage nodded. 

“As soon as I do so, I’ll leave in a shuttle. A TIE would be faster, but I don’t want to be shot down, so please pass on that information.”

“No shooting down shuttles. Got it. I’d offer to pick you up, but I’ll be busy, and it’s a little cramped in an X-wing for two.”

“I’ll manage.” Armitage dug in his pocket again, pulling out a comlink. “Here. This one works. We can’t lose contact again. Now, to getting you out of here.” 

Armitage explained the plan, ignoring Poe’s raised eyebrows when he mentioned that the stormtrooper in question had a moral compass.

“Wow,” Poe said. “So your sadistic training program doesn’t turn everyone, huh?”

“It’s not— Never mind.”

“Sadistic? Is that what you were going to say? Right after we sort of worked things out? You know, I can rethink certain things.” 

Armitage’s hands flexed painfully at his back.

“We don’t have more time to argue right now. I’m happy to discuss my crimes against the galaxy later. When you leave, you need to jump to hyperspace as soon as possible. The SF TIEs lined up on the left side of the main hangar have hyperdrives.”

“I need to pick up BB-8 first. They’re on Jakku.”

“If you jump only a short distance, you can double back to Jakku soon enough. But I have to fire at you to keep my cover. You won’t make it straight to Jakku at sublight. I know you’ve survived Star Destroyers before, but don’t test my cannons, please.”

“I’d much rather not. Okay.” Poe nodded. “That could work. I’m still going to take out some of your cannons while the navicomputer makes the calculations to jump.”

“Fine. Just go as fast as you can. When you come back, we’ll probably pick you up on our scanners, depending on how close you are.”

“That doesn’t give me much time.”

“I know. Try to arrive as far away as possible.”

“I will.”

Armitage sighed. The plan was shoddy and full of holes, but it was all they had.

“Alright, we need to move before Ren gets suspicious. After I get the stormtrooper, I’ll tell Ren that I couldn’t get any information out of you. You’ll have a very short window.”

Armitage paused, looking at the chair behind Poe, stomach twisting at what he had to ask Poe to do. Poe turned towards it, understanding in his eyes. He walked to it, stepping back in.

“Come on,” he said. “Strap me in.”

“I’m sorry. But if they see you’re not in it—”

“I get it. We have to keep up appearances. And your guy will be right down, right? So I’ll barely be here at all.”

Yes. Of course. There was no point in his treacherous stomach churning as he activated the controls, manacling Poe. The plan would work. It had to work. Was this how Poe, how the rebels felt before rushing into one of their ridiculous, suicidal, yet astonishingly effective schemes? Pushing down every terrified thought of what might go wrong and clinging to flimsy, sentimental hope? Yet it was all they had, and now, the same desperate prayer was all Armitage had, too.


	13. Chapter 13

_11:29 pm, day 88 since breakup_

Armitage returned to the bridge, his pace barely a fraction faster than normal as he strode down the corridors despite the urge to run needling inside him. Above all, he must maintain appearances. As far as everyone else was concerned, he had absolutely no reason to hurry anywhere. 

Not until the alarm blared around him.

“What’s going on?” he asked when he got to the bridge, finable able to sprint the last, few steps. 

“Someone took one of the TIE fighters without authorization,” Peavey said, coming up to Armitage. “They shot up the hangar.”

An explosion made the floor shiver.

“They took out one of our ventral cannons, sir,” one of the bridge crew said. 

“Keep firing,” Armitage said, a tad uselessly, but he had to give an order. 

Poe was zooming beneath the Finalizer. He took out another cannon, its final shots glancing off the TIE’s shields. Armitage had known he’d be glad for investing in enforced shielding for the TIEs, but he’d had no idea how much. Enough time had passed for the navicomputer to calculate a hyperspace route, hadn’t it? 

_Come on, Poe. Jump already._

The TIE’s rear thrusters began to glow bright blue. 

“They’re preparing to jump,” someone said.

Armitage held his breath. Poe swooped down, away from the Finalizer. One of the stern cannons fired. Space bent around the TIE, zooming forward and out of sight.

````````````````````````````

11:53 pm, day 88 since breakup

Armitage dissembled with Ren, feigning immense displeasure at the escape while protesting the efficacy of his stormtrooper program despite this one, anomalous failure. After a few, infuriating barbs that tested Armitage’s ability to keep his temper in check, Ren finally withdrew to go skull or brood or whatever it was he did in his free time. Once he was well away, Armitage indulged in some extremely violent fantasies in which he silenced that insufferable cretin once and for all.

“General,” the communications officer said from her console. “Our sensors have picked up something. It looks like our TIE fighter.”

A pulsing ache crushed Armitage’s head in its grip.

_Here we go._

Armitage hurried to the holotank, peering at the small, red dot just within Jakku’s orbit right below them, rushing to Niima Outpost. 

“They came back,” Armitage said, sounding amused. “Scramble our fighters. Get them down there, along with a trooper transport. We need that pilot alive.”

At long, grueling last, Armitage could finally order that Poe be kept alive, but he still wouldn’t live long if they caught him again, for they couldn’t pull this off twice. It was imperative that Poe get away as swiftly as possible. 

Armitage followed the maneuver on a console, projecting all the cams they had on the scene on various screens. Poe had landed at the edge of Niima Outpost. The transport and the fighters were already in the air, with the troopers due to arrive first to comb the surface. It was the middle of the night, and the place was tiny, so it wouldn’t take long. Was BB-8 even there? Armitage wasn’t aware of how quickly the droid could roll on sand, yet the distance from Tuanul was feasible, and clearly Poe also thought he’d be here. Perhaps Poe had even espied BB-8 from the air.

The transport arrived next to the stolen TIE. The cams showed fires lit in the outpost as the late sleepers continued to gamble and drink into the night. The troopers disembarked and examined the TIE, which was, of course, empty by now. So Poe’s best method of escape was gone, but it was hardly the only one, for it looked like the place had a few salvaged ships. Mediocre junkers and freighters, but as long as one could jump to hyperspace, that was all the chance Poe needed. 

Shooting began. Infuriatingly off cam, so Armitage couldn’t see. He clutched the console so fiercely that his fingers hurt. Thankfully, the TIEs had their own cams, and a communications officer provided an oral narrative of the situation. 

“The troopers spotted Dameron and the renegade with a droid and a girl. They’re in pursuit.”

A girl? What was Poe doing picking up strays at a time like this? Armitage caught a glimpse of her, a blur of taupe ducking in and out of tents along with the rest. He kept an eagle eye on Poe. The Force had only ever been a source of terror for him, a weapon masquerading as mystical nonsense used against those unable to wield it like him, yet Poe always put so much stock in it as a fount of hope and life, so Armitage found himself praying to it now to keep his precious Poe alive.

“Still in pursuit.”

“The TIEs have them in their sights.”

“They lost them among the tents.”

“Found them. The fugitives are running toward the shipyard.”

“The TIEs blew up a quadjumper they were running to.”

“The fugitives boarded a small freighter.”

“The freighter took off. The TIEs are pursuing.”

“They’re flying low. Our scanners can’t get a good read on them.”

“TIE down.”

“They’re in a ship boneyard. Using the ships as cover.”

“Another TIE down.”

“TIE down.” 

“Two TIEs down. Crashed into ship debris.”

“TIE down.”

“The freighter stopped firing. Their cannons might be jammed.”

Armitage’s teeth clenched, a silent growl vibrating in his throat.

“TIE down. Crashed into ship debris.”

“The freighter entered a fallen cruiser. Our last two TIEs are in pursuit.”

“We lost signal. Too much interference.”

“The freighter and one TIE made it out. The other signal is dead.”

The sole, remaining TIE cam cut out. Armitage stared at the black screen, daring to hope.

“The last TIE is down. We lost signal.”

Never had it been so hard to force himself to scowl while a grin wished to burst on his face. All but running to the viewport, he saw a white speck grow as it zoomed up through Jakku’s atmosphere and into space, before vanishing as it jumped away.

````````````````````````````

_12: 43 am, day 89 since breakup_

In his pocket, Armitage’s comlink blinked fervently with a message from Poe, but he hadn’t been granted a single, blessed moment to view it. The knowledge that Poe was alive, safe, and far away from the First Order was the only consolation that kept him from going mad as frantic impatience gnawed at his stomach. 

“The map is in the droid.”

The Ren just had to make Armitage’s nerves a million times more tense by saying that.

“The BB unit Dameron was with,” Ren continued. “Rounded head. White with orange disks all along its body. Easy to identify. It must be his astromech. Of course. It should have been obvious.”

The self-annoyance in Ren’s voice sparked a memory in Armitage’s head. Hadn’t Leia Organa hidden the plans of the Death Star in a droid? Poe had reused his idol’s old plan, and Armitage hadn’t even noticed. 

“I’ll put out a bounty for the droid, as well,” Armitage said, hating himself for even speaking those words. “Emphasize that it is to be recovered intact.”

To damn himself even further mere hours after Poe had rewarded his promise to no longer toe the company line, Armitage found himself not only ordering that Poe’s friend be hunted down, but placed a bounty on Poe’s own head. And FN-2187’s and this girl’s, whoever she was, but they were of no consequence to him. 

By the time that Armitage finally managed to retire to his chambers, he felt as strung out as a shirt twisted into aching knots in the washer. 

“We made it out,” Poe said in the message. 

He looked more exhausted than Armitage had ever seen him, but hale and happy. He grinned from ear to ear, buzzing with excitement despite his sleepy eyes. 

“You won’t believe what ship this is. Your guys had the TIE, so we had to grab something else. BB-8 had met this local. She helped him. She led us to the shipyard. She’s an amazing pilot, by the way. That bit of us going through that cruiser was her. Anyway, guess what ship we’re on? I couldn’t believe it. Leia told me that someone had stolen it from Han Solo years ago. No one thought to ever see it again. It’s the Millennium Falcon.”

The what? That was preposterous. What would one of the most famous ships from the Civil War be doing on a junkyard like Jakku?

Poe suddenly looked to the side. Armitage heard voices, though he couldn’t make anything out.

“I’ll call you later,” Poe said. 

He hesitated a moment, looking earnestly into the cam, gratitude in his face.

“Thank you for changing your mind.”

The call ended. Armitage sagged against the nearest wall, eyes closing as he finally allowed his body to slouch with every ounce of exhaustion that had been constantly dragging him down for the past day. His head pounded with a fresh headache, and he shuffled like an inebriate as he ambled toward his kitchen and poured himself a glass of water, gulping it down to calm his strung out nerves. When he finally put the glass down with a loud _thump_ , he sagged into the counter, the grin he’d been shoving down since Poe fled into hyperspace on the freighter taking over his face as his chest heaved with hysterical laughs. 

What a day. What a terrifying, beautiful day. 

The Millennium Falcon, huh? Armitage didn’t believe in signs, Force or not, but what the hell? He’d take it.

`````````````````````````

_8:02 am, day 89 since breakup_

Poe yawned widely as Armitage answered the call. 

“Sorry,” Poe said. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

A yawn built in Armitage’s own throat. Oh, great.

“Well, stop it. Now you’ve—” Armitage hid his yawn behind his hand. “Now you got me doing it, too. Did you get any sleep?”

“Yeah. A full six hours. I could still sleep for twenty more, though. I feel like my body’s trying to curl into itself. I’m totally taking a nap soon. You?”

“Wishing that I had such a luxury. I slept for around five hours. Where are you? Did you receive my last message?”

“Yup. And we already had a couple of visitors looking to collect on that bounty.”

Armitage nearly dropped egg on himself as anxiety spiked through him.

“What? When?”

“Like half an hour ago. We just made it out. We’re fine. But I need to backtrack so it will make sense. So, we’re on the Falcon. We got caught in a tractor beam from a much bigger freighter. Guess whose freighter it was?”

“Don’t tell me it was another Civil War hero you grew up idolizing. Escaping in the Falcon is mad enough.”

Poe somehow managed to grin even wider, his enthusiasm so acute that it practically radiated off him.

“When you put it like that, it does sound ridiculous, but I’m geeking out, so I don’t care. It’s Han Solo and Chewbacca.”

Armitage raised a skeptical eyebrow. Poe must be joking. Yet he stared Armitage dead in the eyes, daring him to laugh.

“You’re really with Han Solo and Chewbacca? Aboard the Millennium Falcon?”

“I know it sounds insane. It’s a million to one chance. But I’m not kidding.”

A distinctive, growling sound came from somewhere off cam. Armitage stiffened, frowning. It couldn’t be.

“See?” Poe said, pointing to his left with his thumb. “Tell me that’s not a Wookie.”

A gruff, human male voice accompanied it, sounding around the appropriate age. Armitage gaped at Poe in disbelief. Of all the ludicrous things that could possibly be happening, Poe was truly with Han Solo and Chewbacca aboard the Millennium Falcon?

“Alright. I believe you. It’s just… incredibly unlikely.”

“About as unlikely as General Hux betraying the First Order.”

Armitage smiled a bit.

“Fair point.”

 _Hux?_ , BB-8 said in a furious chirp. _Are you talking to him?_

Poe looked down to his left, dubious.

“Uh… yeah.”

_Lower the comlink._

“Listen, BB, I think you should talk to him later.”

_No! I’m mad at him. And happy that he helped you escape. And that he’s helping us. I don’t know! As your friend, I need to let him have it._

Armitage sighed around his toast. Great. Now the droid was yelling at him.

“Is that Hux?” someone else asked. It sounded like FN-2187. 

Sure, enough, FN-2187 slipped into cam range next to Poe, frowning at Armitage.

“I still wasn’t one hundred percent sure,” FN-2187 continued, “that this wasn’t some sort of over the top prank until we jumped to hyperspace. I mean, you? And him? And not killing me? This still makes no sense.” 

He walked off before Armitage could reply. 

“You told him about us?” Armitage asked.

Poe rubbed his forehead. He was walking somewhere.

“Just that we were something. It slipped out. It’s not like the whole Resistance won’t know soon, anyway. How else are we going to explain this? Leia knows, by the way. I can’t remember if I ever told you that.”

Poe entered another room, shutting the door behind him.

“No, but I’m not surprised you told someone. She was horrified, I presume.”

Poe looked pensive for a moment.

“Not really, actually. She was shocked. At first, she thought I should break off contact completely. She never ordered me to. That was always my choice. But I… I talked to her about you. I needed to with someone, and she already knew. And the things she’s been through… When you kept messaging, she began to wonder, like I was wondering. I knew by then this wasn’t a ruse. That you really do love me.”

Armitage inhaled sharply at Poe’s use of the word “love”.

“Did she wonder if you could turn me to your side?”

“To put it bluntly, yes. But she hopes… she knows that, even if someone has done horrible things, that there’s still hope that they can turn it around and be good.”

Turn it around and be good. Armitage couldn’t be good. He was fundamentally not a good person. That person who felt softness for others and endeavored to live up to his kind mother’s aspirations for him far more than his father’s, no matter how desperate he was for his respect, that person died above Jakku when he was five. But he would try for Poe. He could, at least, manage to perform actions that counted as “good” to Poe, even if his motivations were self-serving. 

“How generous of her,” Armitage said. “Can I hope, in turn, that you might be a little pleased that I’m proving her right?”

A smile curled Poe’s lips for a moment. 

“Yeah.”

Armitage couldn’t help a smile of his own. He was on the right track to regaining Poe’s kind regard, even if it was foolish to dare dream that Poe might ever take him in his arms again. On the _Finalizer_ , Poe’s inquisitive touch had meant nothing. He’d merely been trying to catch Armitage in a lie. Just because the beginning of this call had felt so relaxed, so fiercely like old times, it didn’t mean anything other than that Poe was willing to accept Armitage back into his life, which was already more than Armitage had the right to ask for. 

“Anyway,” Poe said. “You look like you’re nearly done eating, so I’ll finish filling you in.”


	14. Chapter 14

_5:43 pm, day 89 since breakup_

“We just got to the base,” Poe messaged. “I’ll call you back after I show Leia the plans.”

Armitage played the second message. 

“Our secret’s out. Not to the whole base. But I had to tell high command why you gave me these schematics and are willing to help me. Most of them thought that you’re setting us up for an ambush.”

Well, their situation was pretty unbelievable. Armitage would have thought the same thing were he sitting at their side of the table. 

“I had to tell them a few things. Nothing too personal, but… I did have to tell them that you love me.”

Of course Poe did. Without such feelings, Armitage would have no motive for such an insane act of treason. 

“Leia backed me up. I said I trust you. And Leia trusts me. That was enough for most of them. Some of them still looked dubious, but it’s hard to argue when a hologram of an even worse Death Star is right in front of you. What is it with you guys and destroying planets? Seriously? Anyway, we’re getting ready for it. I’ll talk to you soon.”

``````````````````````````

_7:25 pm, day 89 since breakup_

Snoke’s oversized hologram hovered over Armitage’s living room.

“We have everything in place,” said that silky, ominous voice. “It’s time for the Republic to say its final good-byes. Tomorrow, go to the base and make it so.”

Armitage’s voice didn’t waver as he replied.

“Yes, Supreme Leader.”

```````````````````````````````

_7:27 pm, day 89 since breakup_

_Come on, Poe. Pick up pick up pick up._

Finally! Poe’s blue tinted face appeared over the counter, where Armitage was pouring himself a cup of herbal tea. He’d much rather indulge in some Tarine, but he really needed to get some damn sleep, and if he imbibed one more drop of caffeine, he’d be tossing and turning all night, sleeping pill or not.

“Hey,” Poe said. “Sorry, I was at a briefing. What is it?”

“It’s happening tomorrow. Snoke just ordered me to go to Starkiller Base and destroy the Hosnian System.”

Poe’s eyes widened in frightened shock. 

“What? Already? Okay. When exactly is this happening?”

“The precise time of the attack is at my discretion, so I can give you some cushion time, at least. I’m traveling there as we speak. I shall arrive around 2 am standard time, but I’m not disembarking until the morning, so… 10am. That’s the best I can do without Snoke demanding to know why I’m being so sluggish and ordering me to attack immediately. That’s the most I can push it. But you need to begin your attack before we begin charging the station. I can stall a few more minutes. I’ll also send the Finalizer away so you don’t need to worry about it.”

“How about 10:10?”

“Perfect.”

“10:10 on the dot. Got it. We’ll be there in time.”

“Message me every step of the way so I know exactly where you are.”

“Will do.”

“Poe?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t die.”

Poe held his gaze, his eyes filled with the same emotions that squeezed in Armitage’s chest. Poe nodded, his mouth set in a grim, yet determined, line.

“Don’t you die, either.”

```````````````````````````````

_6:47 am, day 90 since breakup_

Sunset on Arkanis. It wasn’t a digital painting, but actual oil on canvas, just like in the ancient days. Armitage had acquired it when he went searching for mother. It had been an impulse buy, a surprising burst of sentimentality and nostalgia. The warm yellows and pinks of the sunset over a verdant, mountain valley stood in sharp contrast with the cool greys and blues that decorated his rooms, but he’d never minded the color difference. The sun was so rarely seen in Arkanis, whose atmosphere was always ensnared in clouds soaking through everyone who ventured outside in downpours and drizzles that never let your skin or clothes remain dry. A sight like this, the bright, golden sun peering through thinning cumulus clouds, was considered a good omen, a promise of good things to come. A silly notion. 

Yet Armitage had still hung up the painting in his living room mere hours before receiving his promotion to major. Now that his father was finally dead and cut out of his life forever, Armitage’s path to power and glory lied clear before him. He’d smiled at the painting, looking beyond the subtle brushstrokes to a bright future where he’d never be subject to anyone’s cruel whims ever again. It stretched ever so close, only just a few more rungs up the rank ladder away.

The black and white armband proclaiming his rank of general pressed into his arm. He’d almost made it all the way to the top. Almost. Was the painting still a good omen? Would he be joyous in victory this day, or would his willing sacrifice of his aspirations presage a far crueler murder? 

He wandered the halls of the _Finalizer_ , musing on regret. These spaces were as familiar to him as his own face in the mirror. 2,916 meters long from bow to stern, and yet he could travel almost every expanse of his ship without getting lost. The _Finalizer_ was his. The very first Repulsor-class Star Destroyer, his gift from Rae upon his rise to the rank of captain for living up to her exacting expectations. She’d disown him if she saw him now, but he’d grown used to disappointing her. In any case, she wasn’t here. So what if he was destroying her dream? This was his life, and he’d live it however he chose. She’d understand that, at least. She might even understand about Poe. She’d never sought a romantic partner herself, but he’d sensed slight sorrow from her over her decision. For her, giving up the potential for such close connection had been necessary. And so Armitage had decided, too. Until Poe. 

The bridge personnel came to attention when he stepped into the room. This moment, and a few more on the base filling the viewport, would be the last time that he’d be granted this honor. Would the Resistance give him the courtesy of a rank? The Rebellion had been flush with Imperial defectors after the destruction of the first Death Star, as well as after their subsequent victories. The deserters had been integrated into their ranks without much of a fuss, and that was without the massive boon of a means to obliterate the Death Star itself. Poe was a commander, and close to their beloved General Organa. He might be able to get him some position, although it would never be as lofty as what he was now. 

Armitage stood at the front of the bridge, hands behind his back. He never paid much attention to the people working around him, but now he listened for every murmur, every scrape of a chair, every beeping of machinery. An MSE droid buzzed behind him. Someone coordinated with the base below, preparing for his arrival. The hemisphere they faced lied half in darkness. Sunrise would soon be upon their main facility on the northern side by the stretch of pine forest that had survived the base’s construction. Poe and the Resistance were on their way. Armitage had just listened to his latest message before leaving his room. They would arrive by the accorded time. 

Would his mom be proud? Would she have been ashamed of the man he’d been until now, or would she have loved him, anyway? She had never expressed any qualms about the Empire itself, but that hardly meant that she had approved of their actions. They had all been under constant surveillance. _Be kind,_ she’d told him. The Empire wasn’t kind, much less the First Order. She’d like Poe. She would have laughed at his jokes, and shared his warm smile, and cooked with him while Armitage made up for lost time and learnt from them. 

Time his father had stolen from him. How ashamed he’d be to see the son he despised about to destroy the family legacy. He’d rail, shout, hit Armitage across the face, break some teeth and bones. But the old man wasn’t alive to do any of those things. Poe comparing him to that wretch Armitage had the great misfortune of being descended from had stung Armitage to his core. In the decade since he’d had him eliminated, Armitage had been so focused on supplanting his father and becoming a greater officer than he had ever been. Now, Armitage would bring so much shame on the Hux name that he’d make his father’s spirit regret ever acknowledging his misbegotten son in the first place. Armitage would burn down the last seed of the Empire and render everything his father had ever done into no more than dust. 

Armitage stayed on the bridge for as long as he could stand, then shook off the overwhelming torture of _one last time_ before turning on his heel and returning to his rooms. Extracting the painting from its frame, he rolled it up, stowed it in a tube, and packed it with his civilian clothes.

“I’m ready,” he told Poe two hours later. “I’m leaving now.”

“Good luck,” Poe said. “We’ll be there soon. Just hold on tight.”

“I always do.”


	15. Chapter 15

_10:07 am, day 90 since breakup_

“Now,” Poe said on the comlink from the cockpit of his X-wing.

Armitage tapped quickly at the console in the empty terminal, where he had already pulled up the shield array. It glowed blue around the schematic of the base. He pressed Disable, entering a command code that would prevent anyone else from reactivating the shield. One by one, each longitudinal section winked out. He nodded at Poe’s hologram beside him, and Poe nodded back, ending the call. 

Mere seconds later, the proximity alarms blared. 

“What’s happening?” Armitage demanded when he returned to the main command center. 

“Resistance ships have dropped out of hyperspace,” the captain in charge said, barely able to disguise his surprise under the veneer of strict professionalism. 

Pretending to be just as confused, Armitage joined him beside a holotank of the situation captured by the exterior security cams. About thirty starfighters rushed down from orbit. Was that it? Dear God, the Resistance had even less resources than he’d thought. If Armitage hadn’t sent the _Finalizer_ away, their entire plan might have been shot in minutes. 

“Begin charging the laser,” Armitage said.

Poe wouldn’t like this part, but a loyal general would order exactly that, and it was still too early to compromise his cover. If he prevaricated too early, his desertion would be too obvious, and he’d be arrested or shot, and the captain would give the order to charge, anyway. Whoever spoke the words didn’t matter in the end. It was hardly ideal, but Armitage stood a much better chance of surviving this if he departed after the Resistance destroyed the oscillator and caused the planet to collapse. As ludicrous as that sounded. But this wasn’t a Death Star, which had been blown apart too quickly for anyone to even reach an escape pod. The planet would deteriorate by degrees, giving anyone who wished to keep breathing a chance to get out. Moreover, he’d ordered the command shuttle to be parked right outside the building. It was a short walk from here to the exit, and an even shorter run. 

Armitage stepped up to the wide windows of the command center. Fighters chased each other with bursts of laser fire. The oscillator was at the other side of the building, so the fighters quickly flew past, a TIE exploding in mid-air. Armitage’s fingers shifted behind his back. Luckily, the tension gripping his shoulders would be interpreted as rage over the attack and eagerness to blast the Republic once and for all. Twenty-eight minutes remained before the base reached full charge. Poe could do it. Of that, Armitage had no doubt. But he did hope that he’d hurry. 

`````````````````````````````

_10:25 am, Day 90_

An earthquake ripped through the building, knocking Armitage against a console. Gasping, he held on as tremors continued to ripple under his feet, the mortar and metal around him groaning as if a mythical beast had wakened from its slumber. This was it. Poe had done it. Armitage sagged in relief, eyes slipping shut for a second. 

They immediately opened at the sounds of panic and alarms ringing in his ears. He ran. The shaking continued, random bursts throwing him against the walls as he rushed down the corridors. He almost fell down the stairwell, barely gripping the handrail in time. One more corridor, a small foyer, and he was out, the cold, wintry air smacking his face. Above, in the dim twilight of the dying star, the battle coughed its last death throes as X-wings, A-wings, and TIEs alike fled for space, still shooting at each other in a final bid for revenge. He didn’t see Poe, but that didn’t mean anything. Poe was up there somewhere. Armitage was certain of it. 

The command shuttle was only a few meters away. Armitage ran for it, punching in his access code in the console beside the boarding ramp. The ramp began to lower, agonizingly slow. The shriek of a TIE fighter swelled overhead, growing closer. 

Closer? Why was it flying toward the planet instead of away from it?

Lasers shot into the ground next to him. He yelped, shrinking against the shuttle. Who the hell was firing at him? The ramp was almost down. But if the TIE shot the shuttle, he was still dead. He looked up.

Ice froze his bones. 

Fuck. Ren’s Silencer loomed above, cannons aimed right at him.

Armitage was going to die. There was no getting out of this. No time. The ramp hit the ground, but he didn’t move. He could pull out his blaster, at least go down fighting, for what little good it would do. 

The Silencer descended, landing a few feet away. Ren was getting out. Maybe Armitage still had a chance. If he was swift enough… If he could pull the trigger in time…

An invisible force yanked him forward, throwing him back against the shuttle. Pain smashed through his right shoulder. He cried out, falling, blaster slipping from his hand. 

“You!” Ren growled, feet hitting the tarmac. “This was you.”

He yanked Armitage upright, dangling him in the air like a doll. Armitage gritted his teeth, a shout whistling between his teeth. His shoulder was dislocated, his arm shivering. Ren’s mask was off, his face twisted in thunderous rage. 

“There’s been something off about you these last weeks,” Ren said. “You always seek to hide your mind from me, but you’ve been particularly motivated. When I brought in that Resistance scum, your emotions were a mess. Your satisfaction at my success felt fake. I thought it was just because you hate me, but when he escaped, you were calm. You tried to appear angry. You almost succeeded, but it was like a bad transmission. I could feel you lying to me.”

Armitage’s right arm cracked. He screamed, pain shooting through him like a turbolaser.

“I should have done that days ago.”

Armitage barely heard Ren, his chest heaving, keening sobbing in his throat.

“I told Snoke that we should get rid of you. But he said that you had value. Only after we’d used you up could I kill you.”

An invisible punch smacked Armitage in the gut, violently expelling all breath from his lungs. Agony radiated through him. Broken shards of bone shifted inside. His ribs. Something squeezed his head, invading his brain like a thousand hornets buzzing around in his skull, violating every thought he made with their dirty, little feet. Armitage couldn’t fight him off anymore. He hurt too much. 

Memories flashed. Poe glaring at him. Poe smiling. Poe sleeping. Poe flying the sunsail. Poe escaping TIE fighters. Poe holding him. Poe telling him that he was worth something.

Poe Poe Poe…

Ren threw him on the ground. Armitage’s scream pierced his ears. His vision blurred, tears burning his cheeks. Consciousness slipped away, cruelly jerked back by Ren’s will. 

“You’re in love with that rebel?!”

Armitage flew forward, seized by the throat. Ren’s hand crushed hard. Armitage gasped, unable to do more than scratch at Ren’s hand as his vision dimmed.

“You’re the son of rebels,” Armitage squeaked out.

Ren grabbed his broken arm.

Armitage blinked his eyes open. He’d passed out. The earth rumbled, but he barely heard it, a more immediate danger taking its place. That hum. Harsh. The hungry growl of a predator stalking in the grass. Armitage’s eyes widened, terrified.

“Snoke won’t mind if I don’t bring you in alive.”

Ren gripped his lit lightsaber in his hand. It burned blood red. Armitage couldn’t move. He lied suspended in mid-air just below Ren’s waistline. 

“I’ll just take him your head.”

Tears slipped from Armitage’s eyes. He couldn’t speak, his vocal cords arrested in Ren’s hold. The lightsaber shrieked as Ren lifted it. The air sizzled over Armitage’s throat as Ren lined up the saber, making sure he’d sever the right spot. Armitage trembled. The heat scorched him, but not for long. 

_I’m sorry, Poe. I’m not going to make our rendezvous._

He hoped that Poe didn’t really love him. This would hurt him less. Armitage had never felt the Force, but maybe… maybe his spirit would linger. Maybe he could watch over Poe. 

Ren raised the saber. Armitage flinched, shutting his eyes. 

Cannon fire squealed overhead. An explosion rent the air. Armitage hit the ground. He cried out, gasping, choking on a sob. An X-wing hovered over him, covering him as it fired behind him. Ren ran away, barely missing the laser shots, his TIE a smoking ruin. He hid inside the building. Poe, for it could be no one else, fired at the doors, shattering the metal. 

The shots ceased, the X-wing landing beside him. Poe jumped out. Beautiful, darling Poe. Tears wet Armitage’s cheeks. 

“Keep us covered!” Poe called to BB-8, who replied with a chirp, immediately taking the fighter back into the air. 

Poe ran to his side, crouching beside him. He touched Armitage’s face, sweeping his hair off his forehead.

“Armitage? Are you with me? You’re safe now, I promise. I’m getting you out of here. Where are you hurt?”

Poe’s voice shook, eyes wide and scared. Armitage grabbed his arm with his left hand, feeling him solidly there with him.

“My lower ribs.” Armitage’s breath was a frail murmur, every breath agony. “My right arm. Broken. Right shoulder dislocated.”

Poe nodded.

“Okay. I’m going to carry you to the shuttle. It’s going to hurt. I’m so sorry.”

He squeezed Armitage’s hand, then gently placed Armitage’s broken arm on his chest, and slipped his arms under Armitage’s shoulder and knees. He met Armitage’s eyes.

“Now,” he said.

Pain flared as Poe lifted him. Armitage whimpered, shrinking toward Poe even as it hurt his ribs. His vision blurred again. It hurt so much.

“Going to… pass out,” he whispered, wincing as Poe moved.

“You do that. Sleep. You’ll be fine when you wake up, I promise.”

Armitage clung to him, letting himself go.


	16. Chapter 16

Someone was stroking his forehead. Armitage’s eyes opened. Poe stood over him, frowning with concern.

“I’m sorry,” Poe said. “I know I promised you’d be okay when you woke up. You will be okay. The bacta is healing you. Does it hurt?”

“No.”

Armitage’s voice was a hollow croak. His left hand rose, reaching, but would Poe accept that? Armitage lied on a cot, cocooned in a transparent, bacta suit. The room was painfully white. Why were med bays always white?

“We can’t unlock your datapad without your retinal scan. I’m so sorry, but it couldn’t wait.”

Poe raised the datapad, but didn’t lift it to Armitage’s face yet. Armitage grabbed it. The retinal scan window was already pulled up.

“Your slicers got past my code?” he asked.

Poe skirted his gaze as he nodded, embarrassed about violating Armitage’s privacy despite the urgent need for the secrets within the datapad. Armitage felt himself smile. He lined up the screen with his right eye. It scanned him, unlocking the datapad and opening to his Home screen. 

“Thank you,” Poe said, taking it back.

“Have the First Order retaliated?”

Poe nodded, his jaw tightening.

“We’ll talk about that when you next wake up. You will be healed by then. Just sleep.”

Poe placed his hand on Armitage’s left shoulder. He slipped his thumb inside the suit, rubbing his collarbone. Armitage tried to cling to his touch, but the drugs pumping through his body robbed his energy, shutting his eyes.

```````````````````````````

When Armitage next awoke, he was alone. A machine beeped, announcing his conscious state to the medi-droid, a slim, blue PZ unit, which came right over, removing the protective bubble encasing his head and upper torso.

“Your injuries are fully healed,” it said in a soft, female voice. “Do you feel any pain or discomfort?”

Armitage sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress.

“No.”

He flexed his right arm. Full mobility. No agony as he breathed. 

No lightsaber humming by his ear. 

“How about fatigue?”

He got to his feet, itching to move, to see Poe.

“No. How long have I been asleep?”

“It’s been twenty-nine hours and thirty-four minutes since your arrival at the med bay. I will remove the bacta suit, then inform General Organa that you’re awake.”

“How about Commander Dameron?”

“Commander Dameron is on assignment.”

The droid was probably not authorized to tell him where, but he tried, anyway.

“I’m afraid that I’m not at liberty to divulge that information, sir.”

Armitage fought the urge to tap his fingers in frustration. An assignment could be anything. It didn’t necessarily mean that Poe was involved in yet another dogfight on what was sure to be very little sleep at the moment. Although, Poe had said that the First Order was already retaliating, as expected. Armitage’s first priority had he still been leading the First Order’s armies would have been to strike at as many military bases as he could as quickly as possible. They may no longer have Starkiller Base, but their dreadnought could destroy the Republic’s defenses without too much of a fuss if they acted quickly.

Armitage shook his head, straightening his back. There was no point fretting over it. Whatever Poe was doing, he would survive, just like every other time. Armitage had absolute confidence in Poe’s ability to win the day, no matter how seemingly insurmountable the odds, so this nagging worry was really most superfluous. 

The bacta suit removed, the droid brought him a change of clothes from one of the suitcases he’d packed in the shuttle, as well as a glass of water and a protein bar. Had Poe gone through all of Armitage’s things, or had he merely zeroed in on the most relevant, like the clothes and the datapad?

The droid gave him his black, mid-calf high boots, black pants, a charcoal-grey, cross-lapel dress shirt, and a black, leather jacket. He’d prefer his gaberwool jacket for a first introduction, but the leather would do. Far more appealing to Organa than his First Order uniform. What had they done with it, anyway? Probably burned it before it could offend their eyes any further. 

A knock rang on the door.

“Are you decent?” a female voice asked.

Armitage frowned. Was that Organa?

“Yes,” he replied, ceasing his pacing to stand still, hands at his back. He should attempt to look pleasant, grateful to be allowed on the base, and respectful, but not scrapping or submissive. He wasn’t a beggar. And he’d already purchased some kind consideration by delivering Starkiller Base, as well as his datapad, even if the latter occurred while he was unconscious. He usually kept much of this information in separate datacards for security, but he’d packed it all in before leaving the _Finalizer_ , as well as more datacards for what he couldn’t fit in. Fleet locations and routes. The First Order’s bases and shipyards. Personnel rosters. Spy names and locations. Security codes. Lists of senators and criminal organizations they paid off. The Resistance would require days to sift through all the new data he’d just handed them.

The door opened. Organa was even shorter than he’d anticipated, yet the poise and authority with which she carried herself belied her small stature. She wore a basic, practical uniform. Light grey shirt and pants, brown boots, and a purple vest. Her hair was up in a coif, unadorned. The only items that designated any form of rank where a couple of large, signet rings on her fingers, but even those were indications of Alderaanian royalty, not her generalship. Armitage had always been so careful not to be seen outside his chambers without his general’s band on his arm, to rub it in the face of those who whispered that he didn’t deserve it. Princess Leia Organa was as modest as he’d heard. If the tales were true, she didn’t even use her royal title anymore. Looking at her, it was evident why she didn’t require such accoutrement. Everyone knew who she was. And, even if some ignorant sap didn’t, they would instantly realize that they were in the presence of someone who commanded their attention. 

She regarded Armitage with a firm gaze, yet it wasn’t hostile, despite what Armitage had braced himself to expect. 

“General Organa,” Armitage said. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, despite the circumstances. I’m grateful for the assistance you’ve rendered me.”

She smiled affably enough, though a tad guardedly.

“There’s no need to be so formal,” she said. “Or to butter me up. You’ve given us much more information on the First Order than we’d ever hoped to get, as well as helping destroy that base of yours. That gives you my trust. For now. On a trial basis.’

“Alright. I prefer to speak plainly, as well. Where is Poe? The droid told me that he’s on a mission.”

“The First Order attacked the naval base on Moorjan. Poe and a few of our squadrons are aiding the defense.”

Armitage ignored how his shoulder blades suddenly tensed. If he worried like this every time that Poe was on assignment, he wouldn’t last the week. 

Organa pulled up a chair and sat down. Armitage remained standing, unsure if he should sit as well without an invitation. Yet soon Organa motioned for him to do so.

“Now,” Organa said once they were seated across from each other. “I’m not sure what to call you. I regret to inform you that you’ve been stripped of your rank and branded a traitor.”

Armitage’s lips tightened mirthlessly.

“I’m not sure what you can call me. I’ve never not had some form of military title in my life. But there’s no need to pretend sympathy, general. I know you don’t actually regret this turn of events.”

“You got me. But I know you worked very hard to get that rank. Even though I don’t approve of your methods.”

“Morality is fluid. What is amoral to one can be perfectly moral to another.”

“We could philosophize about the nature of morality all day. But if you’re going to be working with the Resistance, which I’m not taking as a foregone conclusion, then you’re going to need to redefine the term. We don’t operate the way your former friends do.”

“I understand. Let me assure you, there’s no need for you to worry on that front. I accepted the change my life would take when I gave Poe that datacard.”

Her eyes narrowed a fraction, quietly accessing him.

“He’s the only reason you’re here. The only reason why you’ll help us instead of fight us.”

“I already promised Poe that I won’t change my mind, even if—” He paused suddenly, the possibility too horrid to speak lightly. “Even if he dies. I won’t betray the Resistance.”

“So he told me. I believe you. You’re the type who would want revenge, so you’d want to bring the First Order down as much as we do. And I can see that you do love him. You being here in the first place is proof enough of that.”

Armitage’s fingers shifted on his lap.

“Poe told me that he spoke to you of me. Of my messages. I appreciate you not ordering him to cut me off.” 

Organa shook her head. 

“I don’t think it would have been right for me to do so. That’s his personal life, even though you were the enemy, which really complicated things. I admit, I did think you were playing with him at first. It didn’t make sense, especially since you knew who he is since the beginning. For how long did you think you could keep up the lie?”

“I don’t know. I’d planned to end it quickly, but, later, I tried not to think about it. A foolishly, short-sighted strategy on my part.”

“Not your usual way of operating, is it? I’m given to understand that you always plan everything out. Not a fan of improvisation.”

“I do. Staying with Poe was a rare whim. One I regretted, until…”

Until he realized that wishing for a life without Poe was the loneliest, most painful thing he could think of.

“You realized that you couldn’t stay away, no matter how unsuitable he seemed?”

Organa’s knowing expression drew a cautious smile from Armitage.

“A smuggler hardly seems the proper fit for a princess and a senator.”

“I thought so, too, at first. And yet it works. Although Han just didn’t care about the war. We were never on opposite sides like you and Poe. And Han hasn’t done what you’ve done.”

Organa’s voice grew serious, her eyes hardening. The change from her earlier, lighter tone was subtle, but Armitage felt it keenly.

“Commit murder, you mean.”

“And try to conquer the galaxy. Among other things, all of which Poe despises.”

“I have been honest about my actions with Poe since he left me.”

“I know. And he’s willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, as am I. You may only be doing it for Poe, but you’re still helping us. Your reasons for turning against the First Order are less important than the fact that you are doing so.”

“That I’m turning away from the Dark Side, as it were?”

Wariness flashed in her eyes, tensing her jaw.

“Forgive my bluntness,” Armitage said, “but we are speaking plainly, and I don’t wish to hide the fact that I know who your son is. I’d want to know if someone knew something so personal about me.”

The guarded expression left Organa’s face, energy leaching away like water scorched off in a desert. He hands tightened a fraction on her crossed legs, a pall settling on her shoulders.

“How many in the First Order know?”

“Only a couple of members of high command, and we all pieced it together on our own from what little information we could buy. May I ask if Poe knows? He said something that implied that he might, but I don’t want to assume.”

Organa nodded gravely.

“I told him. He said you’d agreed to read some history books from our point of view, and I started to wonder. Poe is a good man, but he’s not gullible. He’d never have been with you for as long as he did if he didn’t sense good in you. And from what I know of your messages and what you told him… And I’m sure Poe kept plenty to himself. I’m not pretending to know about your entire relationship. But from what he said, the truth in your lies is very telling.”

Armitage felt a wry smile on his face. 

_Dear me. Are we exploring my hidden goodness now, if such exists?_

“I would warn you away from calling me a good person,” he said. “Poe did discover parts of me that I didn’t know existed, but… My reason for being here is entirely selfish. I love Poe and want to keep him safe, and the only way to ensure that is to destroy what he’s fighting, even if it’s something of mine. I do admit to being moved by the Alderaanian account Poe made me read, which I wasn’t expecting. None of what Poe has done to me or incited me to think has been expected. Being here, speaking to you on a Resistance base as an ally, was once so ridiculous to me that I never would have conceived such a thought. None of these are emotions I wanted. This is going to sound like I’m trying to ingratiate myself to you, but I do find the thought of destroying a planet uncomfortable. I never could fully eradicate the inconvenience of being disturbed. I shoved it away and told myself that this was necessary until I couldn’t consciously feel it. I made a point to never read anything relating to your home world. I didn’t know whether I’d make general in time to give the order for the Hosnian System’s destruction, but I would certainly be complicit. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I hid my head in the sand, but… perhaps I did a little. 

“So perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised at my reaction, and the good you and Poe insist on seeing in me isn’t a delusion. But I am not a nice man. I’ve done many things that you’d categorize as monstrous with no compunction. And I feel no regret for many of them. Only the thought of the horror that must have been on Poe’s face when he watched my messages gives me pause.”

“Selfish or not,” Organa said, “the fact that it gives you pause at all and that you’re here is significant.”

Her eyes had hardened when Armitage mentioned Alderaan, her whole body tensing, bordering on rage, but it had tempered back into quiet assessment as Armitage continued. Armitage had no interest in downplaying anything or make himself sound better than he actually was. Organa wanted honesty, so he was giving it.

“I suppose,” he said. “I know you hope that your son will return to you. That perhaps he might act like I am now. I can’t give you any indication over whether he will or not, other than to say that his emotions are always volatile and unstable. He’s so angry that sometimes it feels defensive. He’s only ever shown the worst parts of himself to me. We never got along.”

_The heat of the lightsaber scorched his skin._

Armitage reached for his throat. He shoved his hand back on his lap, breath flaring for a second. What the hell was wrong with him? Ren wasn’t here, wasn’t anywhere near him.

“You don’t need to say anything about him if you don’t want,” Organa said, her tone awkward and uneven. “After what he did to you, you have no reason to say anything kind about him. I know an apology from his mother isn’t going to do you any good, but I am sorry for what he did.”

Armitage nodded stiffly. When was Poe getting back? Armitage wanted him here, with him. At least being able to see him would help soothe some of this disgusting anxiety, even though he couldn’t bury his face in Poe’s neck and shove his fear away as he breathed him in. 

“I appreciate it nonetheless,” he said, forcing himself to meet her equally troubled eyes.

“And I appreciate you trying to be nice about this despite everything. Even if it might just be an attempt to ingratiate yourself to me, despite our agreement. But I wouldn’t blame you for it.”

Honestly, Armitage would love to put a blaster shot in Ren’s skull.

“Perhaps a little,” he said, instead.

Organa’s comlink pinged. She picked it off her belt, answering the call.

“Yes?”

“General, the squadrons have returned.”

Armitage straightened even further in his seat, breath clenched in his throat.

“Is Poe with them?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Armitage exhaled. Poe was okay. Organa’s shoulders also relaxed in relief.

“I’ll be right there.”

Organa disconnected the call. She stood up, then nodded her head back, gesturing at Armitage to get up.

“Come on,” she said. “No need to hide how desperate you are to see Poe.”

Armitage thought she would insist that he remain out of sight to not scandalize her troops’ fragile sensibilities, but he certainly wasn’t about to object. He rushed to his feet and followed her lead out of the medbay.

Poe had parked the command shuttle right outside the medical building. The incongruity of a First Order ship among Resistance vessels and personnel made him pause outside the door for a second, squinting up the tall wings in the sudden brightness. Several people stared at it as they passed by, probably confused and repulsed to have it in their midst, just as they were to have him there. Stares, most hostile and incredulous, followed him as he and Organa strode toward the airstrip and hangar, where fighters were still landing. Other glances were more curious, yet they were all assuredly confused and uncertain. Nasty whispers would have surely followed him if he weren’t in the company of General Organa, which was precisely the point of this little stroll. The wing commander bringing him in a First Order shuttle had already announced his presence in shocking fanfare, and now, to further drive home the point that his presence was to be accepted as normal, Leia Organa herself was walking with him in the open. 

Armitage kept his chin up, back straight, face back to its usual mask. Let them find him as distant and severe as they expected, although he couldn’t help the smirk dancing on his lips. Their objections were irrelevant. He was here to stay, whether they liked it or not, so they would stick to the program, if they knew what was good for them. He didn’t give a damn what they thought of him. Only Poe’s and Resistance’s high command’s opinions mattered to him, and the latter only because they could control his access to Poe. 

Who was out here somewhere in this sea of X-wings and A-wings, which felt infuriatingly interminable, despite the fleet’s meager size.

“Poe should be in the hangar,” Organa said, taking pity on him.

Armitage had been much too obvious craning his neck around him searching. 

“You know,” Organa continued. “You never told me what to call you. I’m just going to call you Hux if you don’t give me something.”

“Hux is fine. Much better than Mr. Hux.” God, did he hate the sound of that. “Unless you’d care to offer me a rank.”

Organa shot him an amused look.

“You want a Resistance rank? This day just keeps getting weirder. How about ensign?”

Armitage replied with a withering glare. She shrugged, unfazed.

“You asked.”

“I’ll stick with Hux, thank you.”

Finally, they entered the hangar. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the shade, but that was all he needed to spot Poe’s orange and black ship along the right side. Joyful expectation rose in his chest until he noticed the missing s-foil. Of course, they’d hardly had enough time to repair the ship after Terex had shot down Poe. Armitage smirked in satisfaction at the memory of cutting that filth open. 

“I do not want to know what that smile’s about,” Organa said.

A familiar beeping met their ears. Both recognizing BB-8 at once, they rushed around the X-wings, receiving more respectful nods and befuddled frowns, but Armitage couldn’t care less at the moment. His only concern was for the man standing beside a red and white X-wing, brushing his tousled hair off his forehead as he spoke to BB-8 about improving the thrust. Armitage’s pace quickened, barely keeping from running, his palms sweaty. BB-8 suddenly turned towards them, prompting Poe to follow their gaze.

“Armitage?”

Poe smiled widely, happy and relieved to see him. Armitage didn’t bother tempering the grin on his face, joy bursting inside him like a nascent sun

“You’re all healed up,” Poe said, jogging up to him. “Nothing hurts anymore?”

“No. I’m alright. You?”

“I’m fine.”

Poe grabbed his upper arms, squeezing lightly as if to reassure himself that Armitage was truly okay. And gifting Armitage with a truly imposing stink of recycled air and sweat. 

“You reek,” Armitage said, grimacing.

Poe burst out laughing.

“You always find something to complain about.”

Armitage dared to touch Poe’s arms. Poe didn’t move away.

“The smell is hard to ignore. But I don’t mind it too much.”

He wouldn’t mind standing here for the rest of eternity with Poe smiling at him like this, so beautiful that Armitage found it hard to breathe.

But it couldn’t last. Poe’s smile soon faded, his hands uncertain on Armitage’s arms as he glanced at Armitage’s hands on his own, remembering that touching Armitage was now fraught with moral questions and complications. His throat swelling in an aching knot, Armitage lowered his hands, removing himself first so that Poe would feel less awkward about releasing him. Bracing his arms on his hips, Poe looked behind Armitage, nodding.

“General,” he said.

Armitage turned. He hadn’t even noticed Organa stop a few paces behind him. She’d given him the courtesy of greeting Poe first, as well as observing how Poe reacted to seeing him. Armitage hoped that she was satisfied on that score. He himself was exuberant, even as regret churned in his stomach at the way that Poe had pulled away. 

“We were able to beat them back,” Poe told Organa, “but a good portion of the Moorjan Base was destroyed. And the navy lost nearly half their fighters.”

Organa nodded gravely. 

“Let’s get to the briefing room.” She turned to Armitage. “The rest of high command needs to meet you, too.”

As they turned away, Armitage caught BB-8 looking at him. The droid was still, photoreceptor trained on him, eerily silent. Despite their complete lack of facial expression, Armitage could feel their stare cutting through him, analyzing and weighing what they’d just witnessed against their own feelings toward Armitage. Or they were just trying to unnerve him? BB-8 had been very mobile during their meeting, never standing still for more than a moment, yet now they resembled a statue. Perhaps Armitage was just being paranoid. Unless a droid was moving or talking, there was no way to tell what the hell they were thinking. He nodded politely before following Organa and Poe. At least BB-8 hadn’t yelled at him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First Order shuttles don't have hyperdrives, but I needed this one to. 
> 
> Also, the layout of the Resistance Base in this fic is not like in canon.


	17. Chapter 17

Mirrin Prime’s naval base had been destroyed. This was the loss that had stung in Poe’s mournful eyes when Armitage had asked if the First Order had retaliated. The attack had begun mere hours after Starkiller Base had been razed. The Mirrin System’s location in the Expansion Region gave it some strategic importance, but it was hardly the first one that Armitage would have gone after. Yet he was precisely the reason for this devastation. Ren, Snoke, the whole First Order, they wanted him to hurt, and hurting Poe hurt him, so they eradicated Poe’s old base, murdering his former colleagues along with it.

The bounty that Armitage had been forced to put on Poe’s head had quadrupled. Seven million credits. It was obscene. His own bounty was ten million. If they were brought in together, the payout went up to twenty million. Each amount rose by another million if they were still alive. Flashes of his nightmare scenario crashed through Armitage’s mind. Weeks of torture. Starvation. Being kept apart, only brought together to watch each other scream in agony. Only the severing of their heads would be quick, unless Snoke reserved the honor for himself.

Armitage and Poe looked at each other as they observed the bounty notices on the holoprojector. Poe’s brow was knit in a frown, mouth slightly open, trying not to look as disquieted as he clearly was. Armitage’s hands flexed at his back, yearning to grab Poe’s.

“So much for getting away for a quiet drink somewhere,” Poe said, aiming for levity, yet his tone came out grim and disturbed, arms crossing fitfully over his chest.

Poe was accustomed to the First Order wanting him dead, but this bloodthirst drove a chill down Armitage’s spine. 

“You’re not allowed off this base except on a mission,” Organa told Poe. “And only within the safety of a ship. It’s too dangerous for you to be seen right now.”

“Yes, general.”

Poe nodded, resigned. With one, last concerned look at Poe, Organa steered the discussion back to war strategy. 

The destruction of the base on Mirrin Prime had sent shock waves through the galaxy. No other declaration of war from the part of the First Order had been necessary. The assault on Moorjan had followed, as well as attacks on Nakadia and Lothal. The First Order fleet had spread itself thin doing so, but the element of surprise had proved predictably effective. Lothal’s base lied in ruins, while Nakadia had only barely been able to beat them back after losing a quarter of their base, two small cruisers, and two thirds of their starfighters. Meanwhile, in total, the First Order had only lost one light cruiser, one corvette, and about a third of the complement of TIE fighters held by a Repulsor-class Star Destroyer. A Repulsor-class had been spotted blasting Mirrin Prime’s forces alongside a dreadnought. Eye-witness reports couldn’t be certain that it was the _Finalizer_ , but Armitage knew his ship, and was certain that Snoke would indulge in the additional cruelty of sending it to kill Poe’s former comrades. 

As soon as Poe had returned to D’Qar with the Starkiller plans, the Resistance had wanted to warn the Republic, but they’d been compelled to stay their hand. They already suspected several senators of collusion with the First Order, including the chancellor himself, and it stood to reason that high ranking members of the military were also corrupted. All correct assumptions, except for the chancellor being involved. He was simply an idiot who’d allowed himself to be led by the nose by the First Order senators and the Republic’s fervent desire not to acknowledge yet another galaxial war as a possibility. If the Resistance had warned them, the First Order would have been alerted to their scheme immediately, Armitage killed, and the Hosnian System destroyed before either the Resistance or the Republic could get any of their forces even halfway to Starkiller Base. 

Only after neutralizing the base and receiving all the hard evidence they needed with Armitage’s datapad could they inform the Republic, which had no more need to be convinced as ion cannons wiped one of their naval bases from existence. Arrest warrants were issued for the corrupt senators, all of whom had been warned away from Hosnian Prime and had fled to their home worlds. Conquest was always easier when you already had collaborators in the local governments. Getting rid of the dirty members of the military was more complicated, nor did Armitage possess a full list of Republic traitors, due to the Intelligence Bureau’s irritating penchant of hiding behind arcane regulations about what they were obligated to reveal to high command versus what they could keep to themselves for security reasons.

The Republic’s own Army and Navy High Command (all clean) weren’t very satisfied with this, nor did they appear remotely grateful for the discovery of traitors at all in their midst. Or perhaps they simply resented having to stoop to talking to Armitage, as their expressions of barely restrained disgust clearly implied, despite having requested to speak to him directly. The chancellor had at least been polite, if naïve in his shock at the near obliteration of the planet he stood on. Even the Resistance’s officers in the room with Armitage had been nicer. 

When he first stepped into the briefing room, every eye had turned on him. Their assessment of him had been as guarded and cautious as Organa’s, yet just as surprisingly devoid of hostility. Armitage greeted them politely as he was introduced, trying to appear conciliatory while still looking like himself. After Organa shared a quiet nod with them, their gazes grew more curious, the wariness reducing a bit. So, his bluntness had gained Organa’s approval. That would make the transition much smoother. They got right down to business. They already knew why he was there. Organa might fill them in on her conversation with Armitage later, yet Armitage had a feeling that she wouldn’t reveal the more personal aspects. They hadn’t agreed to keep any confidences, but he got the strong impression that exposing truths as raw as the ones Armitage had confessed to at the end wasn’t the sort of thing that she’d do. 

Apart from finally getting the Republic on board with fighting the First Order and revealing far more traitors than any of his new allies were comfortable with, little was actually decided. A debate raged about whether or not the Resistance should merge with the Republic military. Armitage advised against it, and not only because the Republic wouldn’t be as kind to him. That nest was filled with gnats lying in wait to cut them off at the ankles. He was certain that his collaborator list was far from complete. The decision was tabled until tomorrow morning, but he was sure that they would chose to remain independent. Until then, no unified plan of action could be decided. Meanwhile, they had to take stock of who and what they’d lost, what resources they still had, and continue analyzing the information that Armitage had given them. 

Which Armitage would have gladly stayed for, but he’d grown so tired that he stumbled, lightheaded, only realizing that he’d gone too long without food when he felt that familiar stab in his stomach. Organa noticed, and immediately kicked him out, calling Poe, who’d left after reporting on the Moorjan attack, to meet him at the door.

“It’s not like everyone in this room doesn’t go for long periods ignoring their own hunger,” Armitage protested under his breath as she all but shoved him to the door.

“You just spent a day and a half in a bacta suit and have only eaten one protein bar. I should have remembered that. But you should have said something before you started feeling ill. If we have any questions, we’ll call you.”

So here he was, loitering outside the door while swallowing the urge to glare down every gaping stare as people passed him in the corridor while his stomach growled. Damn it, he really was hungry. And he didn’t know how to get anywhere. Couldn’t someone have given him a new datapad with a map on it so he could make his way around? Although, then there would be no need for Poe to come get him. 

Never mind the map. Waiting was perfectly fine with him. 

“Hey,” Poe called behind him a few minutes later. 

Armitage turned, smiling automatically at the sight of him, instantly feeling better. Poe smiled back. He’d taken a shower, for the foul stench of old sweat was gone, replaced by the alluring scent of fresh soap, and the tips of his hair were damp.

“I’ll take you to the mess hall,” Poe said as he began leading him down the corridor. “We don’t have much variety, but we’ll get you fed.”

“Anything will do. I know how to be pragmatic with my food choices when I have to be.”

Poe shot him an amused look, likely remembering one time when Armitage had ranted about several foods which it had agonized him to be forced to consume. He shouldn’t have said “agonized”. It sounded much too dramatic, and now he might have to swallow his words, as well as a stick of celery. 

“Well,” Poe said, digging in his pocket. “There’s definitely one item that you will like.”

Poe held a bag filled with Tarine leaves in front of him, yet not the same as the ones that Armitage had packed in one of his suitcases, every available millimeter of space filled with his now worryingly short supply of tea.

“It’s not from your bag,” Poe said. “I already had it.”

Armitage gaped at him.

“You did? But you hate it.”

Poe loved nauseatingly sweet foods like cake and candy. Sugary candy, like milk chocolate, not properly bitter dark chocolate, which was the only sort Armitage would ever touch. And marshmallows. Dear god, how could anyone bear to consume something as disgusting as a marshmallow?

“I tried it again, okay?” Poe said. “Just to see if I could like it. I stopped trying after dumping five packets of sugar in the cup.”

Armitage winced. Tarine with sugar. It was sacrilege.

“Then I kept it to give it to you when I saw you again.” Poe continued. “I forgot to take it to Mirrin Prime. Then… You know.”

Poe’s good cheer evaporated as he looked fixedly ahead, his hand dropping to his side, his shoulders tensing. Armitage stayed quiet, unsure how to respond, or if a reply was even wanted. It was amazing that Poe hadn’t thrown the tea into the fire.

“But you’re here now,” Poe said, looking at Armitage again. “So I can finally give it to you.”

The knot in Armitage’s stomach unwound. 

He was here, in the Resistance, as all the gawping people around him refused to let him forget. The staring somehow increased as they made their way to the mess hall, and in the mess hall itself as they waited for a meal droid to make him his tea. He caught a few hushed conversations, but their voices were too low to be comprehensible. Poe nodded at a few people, all of whom failed to not look unbearably curious about his choice of companion. Of course. Their greeting at the hangar must have spread like wildfire. How many had already guessed the real reason why Armitage had quit his prestigious post? If they would even believe that Poe could have ever been with a First Order officer. The way that he and Poe had held each other’s arms didn’t necessarily denote a romantic connection. Friends exchanged similar greetings, although, Commander Poe Dameron being friends with the likes of him was no less scandalous. 

Were he and Poe friends? Poe was being so kind to him, treating him with easy smiles and casual conversation. He’d stroked his forehead in the medbay to rouse him, so apologetic about disturbing him. But the uncertainty in his face as he’d pulled away in the hangar… Did Poe himself know what he wanted from him? 

“I’ll take you to my room so you can eat without people staring,” Poe said, handing him his packed meal, while he carried the cup of prepared tea. “We’re short on bunk space, so you’re staying with me.”

Staying with Poe? In the same room? They’d be separate beds, of course. Poe wouldn’t be willing to let him into his own, would he?

Armitage stewed in his rambling thoughts all the way to the room, which was on the second floor of this building. Poe told him the code as he punched it into the console beside the door. Poe’s living quarters consisted of one room about half the size of Armitage’s bedroom on the Finalizer and a refresher. Two narrow beds were pressed against the opposite wall under a window, squeezed together length-wise due to lack of room. To the left of the door stood a desk and shelf space filled with assorted items, including a model X-wing Poe had in his old apartment. The starfighter painting hung above the desk. Armitage’s bags lied on one of the beds, along with his First Order uniform, which was carefully folded. His boots were tucked under the bed.

“We had to go through your things,” Poe said, apologetic.

“Don’t worry. I would have done the same.”

Armitage sat at the desk, and dug into the food, too famished to wait any more. 

“You kept my uniform,” he said.

Poe frowned, crossing his arms.

“Of course. It’s yours.”

Armitage smiled around his food.

“Although,” Poe continued, “I never liked seeing you in it.” 

The smile died away. Armitage had worn it often in his messages, no longer minding how he was dressed when he called. It felt more honest to not change his clothes.

“Would you rather I got rid of it?” he asked.

“They’re your clothes. I’m not telling you what to do with them.”

Armitage chewed quietly.

“I can use the shirt. No one even sees it under the uniform. And I’ve always been fond of the coat. I like the design, and it’s warm without overheating. I can just take the badge off. Would its profile be too upsetting for people? Too recognizable as being First Order?”

Poe considered this for a second. 

“The coat by itself, I don’t think so. But you definitely can’t pair it with those boots. I’d avoid the boots completely, if you don’t want to have that look.”

No more boots. He never felt fully comfortable wearing anything else, but he had chosen to leave the First Order behind. That included the garments that had become as familiar to him as his own skin. 

“I’ll discard them,” he said, “along with the rest.”

“You sure?”

“I’ve made my commitment to the Resistance. But I’m still keeping the shirt and coat.”

Poe nodded slowly, fidgeting a bit on his feet.

“Okay.”

Armitage continued eating. The food was decent, if a little lacking, but military cuisine was never known for its flavor. He’d hardly expected to be able to continue indulging in the luxury of a private chef droid programmed with the most delectable recipes from across the galaxy.

“Do I have free run of the place?” he asked after a while.

“You do. Oh, here.” 

Poe pulled out a comlink from his pocket and handed it to Armitage. It looked identical to Organa’s. Armitage’s first Resistance regulation item. Should he be proud, or queasy? His stomach was going for the latter, until he looked up at Poe, and remembered why he was engaging in this insane enterprise. 

“Thank you,” he said. “Are there more Resistance articles forthcoming?”

“I don’t think anyone’s going to let you have a blaster just yet. And none of our uniforms come in blue, black, or grey.”

At least Poe wasn’t pushing him to wear other colors, much less these earth tones that the Resistance seemed to favor. Poe had asked him once why he never wore any others. Armitage couldn’t be truthful at the time about how they had been the only uniform colors he had ever dressed in from the moment that he entered school. He’d had so little use for civilian clothing through the years that it had never occurred to him to alter the color scheme when he did. The one instance when he had tried to wear green, he had removed the jacket within twenty minutes, unable to focus on anything besides the alien color on his body. He simply didn’t feel like himself in anything else. 

“A perk of not being an official part of the system, I suppose,” Armitage said, finishing off the last of his nuna. “I don’t have to wear the uniform. I’m not critiquing it, the design is fine, it’s just…”

“Wrong colors. I know.”

Poe sat down on his bed, leaning forward on his elbows, rubbing his hands together. Armitage turned halfway in his chair so that he could still see him, holding the hot tea cup in his hands. 

_Lightsaber heat scorched his skin._

Armitage flinched.

“Armitage?”

Poe was frowning at him. Shit. Armitage took a long draught of his tea, it’s comforting warmth steadying him. What the hell was wrong with him?

“I’m fine,” he said. “I, um… I haven’t thanked you for saving me.” He met Poe’s eyes. “Thank you.”

“Of course. There’s no need to thank me. I would have never left you there. I… I hadn’t seen your shuttle. I thought maybe I’d missed it, but I wanted to do one last sweep. Make sure.”

Poe spoke too fast, words tripping over each other. He rubbed the back of his neck, swallowing, shifting his feet on the floor. 

“I… When I saw you there… Kylo Ren standing over you…”

Armitage squeezed the cup, phantom pain lashing at his ribs.

“I almost killed him,” Poe said, his voice raw.

He almost killed Organa’s son for him? He had shot at Ren for killing Lor San Tekka, but Armitage had attributed that to pure instinct. 

“I had to shoot his TIE first to get him away from you,” Poe continued. “I couldn’t risk hitting you.”

“But you missed him afterward. I thought you were only making it look like you were trying to hit him.”

Poe hesitated, uncertain.

“I was.”

“I know that Ren is Ben Solo. I figured it out a long time ago. General Organa confirmed that you know.”

Understanding came over Poe’s face.

“I couldn’t kill him,” he said, looking wretched. “I’d never be able to face her again. But I almost aimed further up. I almost…”

He looked away, his hands clenched so tightly together that his knuckles were white. Armitage put the cup on the table before he spilled it on himself, hands just on the edge of trembling, not ceasing to gaze at Poe for a second, his heart in his throat, breath shallow. 

Poe stood up, rushing to the desk. Armitage startled, twisting around in his chair, feeling the mere inches of proximity between them in his bones. Poe took a datapad from the drawer and unlocked the screen.

“This will stay unlocked,” he said, placing it before Armitage. He didn’t look at him. “I didn’t have time to make space in the closet, but just shove my stuff to the side if you want to unpack. There’s a map in here if you want to look around the base. I’m sorry, I should be giving you a tour myself, but I… My X-wing still needs work. I need to do as much as I can. Please, make yourself at home. I mean it.”

With one last, agonized glance, Poe all but ran out the door. Armitage stared at the closed door. He inhaled deep into his lungs, then expelled it all in a rush as he stood up and paced in a furious circle around the room. 

What the hell was that? Poe had just run away from him. He’d run out of here as if he might say something he’d regret if he stayed a moment longer, something he didn’t want Armitage to know, that he didn’t want him to see. But Armitage had already seen it. The fear in his eyes. The desire, the naked, desperate need, and the hurt that still held him back. Resentment that had now multiplied at having almost killed his idol’s son to save him. Armitage hadn’t thought to be glad that Poe hadn’t hit that wretch, but would Poe have been able to stand being around him if he had? 

Poe loved him. Armitage had been certain in Mirrin Prime. He’d doubted since then, but there was no mistaking this. Poe loved him, and he resented him for it.


	18. Chapter 18

Armitage didn’t unpack. He went out into the corridor for a proper amount of space to pace in, but he had no desire to go out into the campus and be stared at. He’d had enough of that for today. And, without Organa or Poe at his side, his audience wouldn’t be so nice about it. Back in the room, he showered, put on a holovid, wrote a list of potential First Order strategies going forward, peered out the window at the only two cruisers in orbit, and turned over the painting’s packing tube in his hands. Then he dropped on the bed and verified that Poe hadn’t read one more page of the novel since they broke up. He spent the next couple of hours on the holonet, wasting his time on random rubbish just to distract himself from the hurt in Poe’s eyes.

When Armitage heard the whoosh of the door opening, he closed his eyes and went limp, pretending to sleep. Poe stopped just inside the door. No sound came for a while. Then Poe moved toward Armitage. Armitage felt him beside the bed, heard his sigh and the rustling of his jacket. The datapad was plucked from Armitage’s hands on his chest. Poe didn’t move. Armitage fought to keep his breath steady, almost giving up the ruse. He’d assumed that Poe wouldn’t want to talk, that it’d be easier to put off the awkwardness for a bit longer, but, if Poe was just standing there, staring at him sleep… Could he tell that Armitage was faking? That would be so much worse. 

Armitage was about to open his eyes when Poe walked away, the refresher door closing. Armitage craned his neck back to look at the door. Poe shifted around inside, turning on the shower. Armitage settled back down, giving in to the fact that he wasn’t good for anything else today other than sleeping.

He hadn’t accomplished it by the time that Poe emerged, yet he kept up the ruse. Poe grabbed something from the closet, doubtlessly noticing that Armitage hadn’t touched it, and soon settled down on his own bed. The room went dark. Poe shifted for a bit, breath overly loud in the silence, the bottom edge of his blanket brushing Armitage’s own. Armitage held his breath, barely keeping from reaching out to Poe with his foot, wishing so badly that he could.

```````````````````

Armitage whimpered, pain tearing through him as he slammed against the shuttle. Poe floated above him, screaming. Ren laughed. Armitage scrambled up. He collapsed, gasping, his breath stolen from him, an invisible hand crushing him. The scene shifted. Poe lied face down at a stormtrooper’s feet, his broken gaze meeting Armitage’s, tears spilling from his eyes. The trooper raised his ax over his neck.

Something grabbed Armitage’s shoulder, shaking him. He screamed.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re alright.”

Gasping, Armitage scrambled up, grabbing the hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s Poe. It’s me. It’s okay.”

Poe? Oh thank God. He was in bed. In Poe’s room. Not on Starkiller Base. No Ren. No stormtroopers. No axes. 

Armitage collapsed on Poe, groaning, chest heaving, gripping his wrist. A dream. It was only a dream. Poe was safe. They were both safe. Not for long, but for tonight… Tonight, they were safe. Poe sat on the bed, hugging him. Tears pricked Armitage’s eyes, but he couldn’t let them fall. They were no longer crying on each other’s shoulders. Those days were gone. Yet here he was, face buried in Poe’s chest, with Poe rubbing his back, murmuring that he would be okay, that Ren would never hurt him again. Had Armitage been talking in his sleep? But wasn’t it obvious what he’d been dreaming of? He couldn’t even hold his cup of tea without being seared by the memory of that damn weapon. 

He was being selfish. Poe had pulled away from him, had run. He couldn’t want this. But he was so damn kind and decent, even to a complete stranger clinging to him like he was the only anchor keeping him from floating adrift in space, never to be seen again. Armitage stayed exactly where he was, breathing him in, letting the tears spill as he gripped him tight, unable to bring himself to reject a single second of Poe’s generosity. 

The tears slowed, his breaths shifting from sobs to slow inhales. 

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” Armitage said, hating how broken he sounded. 

“It’s okay. I wasn’t asleep.”

Armitage sat up. He instantly regretted it when Poe’s hands slid off his back. The security lights shone through the window, illuminating Poe’s face. Weariness clung to the shadows under Poe’s eyes, which were cast down. He scratched the back of his neck, his limbs limp and tense at once. 

“You’ve had back to back missions,” Armitage said. “You need sleep.”

“I know. It’s not like I’m not trying to sleep.”

Irritation cut at the edge of Poe’s voice. Armitage stayed quiet. Poe shook his head, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m sorry for snapping. I really would love to sleep. I did sleep for a few hours, then I woke up. And stayed up.”

“I have sleeping pills. You should take one.”

“Sleeping pills? I haven’t had one of those in a while. Yeah. Ok, thanks.”

Crouching on the floor, Armitage drew one of his bags from under the bed, took out the bottle, and dropped one pill into Poe’s hand. Poe popped it in his mouth, swallowing it down with a handful of water from the sink. 

“You didn’t unpack,” Poe said, standing beside Armitage as he replaced the bag. 

_Just in case you reconsidered my residential arrangements._

“I’ll do it tomorrow,” Armitage said.

He sniffed. Poe moved past him to the shelves, returning soon with something in his hand.

“Here,” he said. “Tissues.”

“Thanks.”

Armitage retreated to the refresher to blow his nose. His eyes still itched. He caught the time on the wall chrono. 3:34. The strategy meeting was at 7:30. 

“For what time did you set your alarm?” he asked Poe.

“6. Is that enough time for you?”

Armitage nodded, then realized that Poe might not be able to see it.

“Yes, it’s fine.”

“Are you okay now? Are you calm?”

Calm wasn’t the appropriate word. 

“I’m okay. Thank you for comforting me.”

“Of course. We’re still friends.”

Friends. Armitage could live with “friends”. They got back into their respective beds, settling down. 

If Armitage concentrated very intently, he could still feel the shadow of Poe’s arms holding him tight.


	19. Chapter 19

Armitage woke up eleven minutes before the alarm went off. Typical. Well, might as well take advantage of the extra time. As quietly as he could, he pulled out a suitcase from the under the bed and slipped into the refresher. Poe was finally sleeping, the blanket pulled up to his chin, although his left foot poked out. Armitage was still fantasizing about massaging it when he got in the shower. Poe’s eyes always slid shut in relaxation when massaged, his breath slow and even, a contented smile glowing on his lips. 

When Armitage left the refresher, Poe was gone, having left a message for Armitage on the screen of his datapad.

_I’m bringing breakfast. Be right back._

Would Armitage be taking all his meals in this room? Why not? Eating privately was a privilege of his, well, his former station, although he doubted greatly that Poe did the same. 

Within a minute, the door opened. Armitage looked up from his suitcase, frowning. It was too soon for Poe to be back. BB-8 rolled inside, staring at him with that expressionless photoreceptor.

 _I waited until Poe left_ , they said.

Armitage’s mouth had gone dry, his nerves spiking. God, was he afraid of an astromech? 

“Have you come to yell at me?” Armitage said, sitting down on the bed. He refused to be intimidated by a small droid, no matter how scarily effective they were with their tazer.

_No._

Armitage quirked a brow.

“No? The last time we spoke, you were very determined to let me have it, as you put it.”

BB-8’s head swiveled down, then up again. 

_Poe asked me not to. He wants things to be okay between you two, and says you’ve been making amends, so I shouldn’t be mad at you anymore. I’m grateful that you helped him escape and are helping us now. He’s my best friend. I don’t know what I would do if he…_

BB-8 looked down again. They had been shifting animatedly as they spoke, but now they stood still again.

“I assure you,” Armitage said, “I would also be devastated. I will do everything in my power to protect him. I would give my life for him.”

BB-8 looked back at him. They rolled forward, peering fixedly at him, kind of like Poe had done on the _Finalizer_ , then rolled back.

_Poe trusts you, so I’ll trust you._

Poe trusted him. That brought a smile to Armitage’s face, too quick to hide.

“Thank you.”

_But Poe was very hurt. If you hurt him again…_

The famous taser emerged from one of BB-8’s disks, crackling fierce blue. Armitage replied with the gravity the threat required.

“If I hurt him again, I’ll deserve it.”

BB-8 withdrew the taser.

_Deal._

If the droid had a hand, Armitage felt like he should have shaken it. 

````````````````

BB-8 was still around when Poe returned with breakfast. They shut down their projector the instant that Poe walked through the door.

“BB-8,” Poe said, frowning nervously between the two of them. “What are you doing here?”

“Viewing your grand escapades,” Armitage said. “You know, most people don’t consider dodging stalactites in a cave at top speed to be a good mode of relaxation.”

“You showed him that?” Poe hissed at BB-8.

_Yes. And you nearly cutting us in half when running from Terex, and charging that Star Destroyer._

Armitage had nearly needed to breathe into a bag at that last one, flashes of remembered terror flaring in his mind.

“I didn’t have a choice about either of those,” Poe said, putting the food containers and drinks on the table. 

_Explain the cave, then._

Poe avoided BB-8’s photoreceptor.

“Practice,” he said, handing Armitage a container and his tea.

BB-8’s beeped reply sounded an awful lot like a “hmph”.

“Listen, BB,” Poe said. “There’s something me and Armitage need to talk about. Do you mind going down to the hangar and continuing the repairs?”

_Sure._

Poe opened the door, following BB-8 outside. 

“Thank you for being nice to him,” he whispered.

Armitage smiled before taking a bite of egg.

“I’m glad to see you two getting along,” Poe said, sitting down at the table. “Even if you’re criticizing me.”

“We weren’t coitizing. Just assessing your often questionable techniques.”

“Techniques which you’ve referred to as magnificent and the greatest flying you’ve ever seen?”

Poe quirked a teasing brow at him. Well, Poe really had been paying attention to his messages. The confirmation was as heartening as it was terrifying. 

“I thought you never listened to me when I compliment you.”

“I listen. I just don’t let it go to my head.”

“BB-8 begs to differ.”

Poe sputtered. 

“I’m starting to wish that they were still mad at you.”

Armitage chuckled. 

“So is there really something you wish to speak to me about, or did you simply want us to stop teasing you?”

_Or did you just want to be alone with me?_

Poe’s sobered, a shadow crossing his eyes. Oh. Something serious, then.

“No, there is,” Poe said, chewing thoughtfully for a second. “I called my dad yesterday. That bounty… It’s way too high. Every bounty hunter who doesn’t mind the First Order winning is going to be after it. I’m afraid they might go after my dad to get to me. The colony on Yavin 4 was founded by war veterans and my dad still knows his stuff, so he’s hardly defenseless, but he’ll be a lot safer here. He’s not happy about it, but he agrees.”

Armitage should have thought of that. He had no one except for Poe, no other weaknesses, but Poe still had his father. A caring, supportive father whom he loved.

“I do, too,” Armitage said. “Do you have any other family?”

Poe shook his head. 

“Just dad. He’ll be here tomorrow morning. Well, more like the middle of the night. I’m not allowed to get him myself. It’s too dangerous.”

Yes, it was. 

So, Armitage would meet Poe’s father. Had Poe told him that they had been a couple or that Armitage was here? From everything that Poe had spoken of his father, he sounded like the ideal, rebel solider. Noble. Committed. Decent. Not the sort of person who would approve of the likes of Armitage being close to his son. 

“Where will he sleep?” Armitage looked down at his bed, trying to still his nerves. “Shouldn’t he bunk in here with you?”

Poe shook his head. 

“There’s a little room he can stay in. Smaller than this, but he’d want the privacy.”

A single room. Poe never lifted his eyes from his food as he spoke, a tad faster than before.

“You said there’s a bunk shortage,” Armitage said.

Poe’s chewing slowed. He glanced at Armitage, chagrined.

“High command wanted someone to keep an eye on you. Just while they sorted you out. I volunteered. They didn’t order me to room with you. I shouldn’t have lied to you. I’m sorry.”

Armitage focused on his own plate.

“I understand. You didn’t want me to feel awkward.”

“I’m not keeping tabs on you or anything, just so you know.”

Armitage nodded in acknowledgement. Poe wasn’t the sort to spy on him. 

“If you’d rather have your own room,” Poe said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Only if you want me to leave.”

“I don’t. I don’t want that.”

Armitage met his eyes. Poe’s love for him was an inconvenience, a dark mark against his character. He must want it gone, but how could there be any hope of that with Armitage cleaving to his side? Armitage should insist on leaving Poe alone in his own space. He should stop being so damn selfish and let Poe move on like he’d refused to do these past three months, even if that left him alone with his nightmares. But he wasn’t that strong or self-less. He couldn’t do the noble thing, not with Poe’s sincerity gazing back at him, pleading him to believe that he truly wanted him here. 

“Alright,” Armitage said. “Then we won’t change anything.”

They chewed for a moment in silence.

“My dad doesn’t know about us,” Poe said. “I told him about Armitage Sondiv, but not your real name. I just said we broke up. Didn’t explain why. I didn’t want to go into that. He knows you’re here and about Starkiller Base. Word of your defection has gotten around. I’ll tell him when he gets here, before…”

“Before someone else does?”

Poe nodded, sucking in his bottom lip for a second. 

“The whole base knows by now. I barely got any work done on my X-wing yesterday from all the questions. My friends are demanding that I introduce you to them. They want to size you up for themselves. I hadn’t told them, either. Only BB-8 and Leia.”

“How do they feel about me? Should I be prepared for hostility?”

Poe slumped in his chair, and rubbed his brow, looking exhausted.

“I have no idea. I won’t let anyone yell at you. They were shocked. Definitely. A couple of them weren’t happy. But you burning bridges with the First Order so spectacularly helps. That should help with my dad, too. Snap seemed cool with it. He worked with an Imperial defector during the Rebellion, a loyalty officer.”

A loyalty officer? They were the most hated ones of all, spies and torturers, but not against the enemy. No, their vile and sadistic suspicion was reserved for their own, always seeking to weed out any hint of disloyalty. So, at least one of Poe’s friends was fine with associating with someone with a most unsavory past. That would help. 

“Shall I meet them after my meeting?” Armitage asked.

“Sure. Just give me a call.”

`````````````````````````

Poe offered to walk him to the meeting room, but Armitage remembered the way. Rather, he remembered the route from the apartment to the mess hall, then from the mess hall to the meeting room, but a quick look at the map on Poe’s datapad gave him a direct route. He didn’t want to be escorted everywhere, even by Poe. People needed to see that he was free to move about as he wished on his own. He was no prisoner. A bizarre as it felt to everyone, including himself, he was now just as much a part of this institution as they were, and the sooner they got used to it, the easier it would be. He braced himself for nasty remarks, but none came, only the same intrusive staring as the day before. Fear that he might tell on them to Organa, perhaps? Or Poe? Poe must be well respected here. They were all idiots if they didn’t. 

The same group met as the day before. No decision about joining the New Republic military had been made, but a new discovery made the possibility of reconciliation less palatable. 

“The shields at Lothal were taken down manually,” Major Ematt said. “We previously thought it went down when the shield generators were shot out, but a check of the base’s computer system confirmed it. The shield was already down. Damaging the generators was only a cover.”

“Were any of the collaborators we know of at Lothal?” Admiral Ackbar asked.

“No.”

“An intelligence operative I’m not aware of,” Armitage said. “They won’t be the only one.”

“So,” Organa said, “If we merge with the Republic military, none of our secrets will be safe from the First Order. Including the location of this base.”

“Which is the only thing keeping us alive,” Admiral Statura said. 

A somber silence fell over the room. 

“The Senate won’t like it,” Ackbar said.

“The Senate just had nineteen of its members arrested for treason,” Armitage said. “And the rest of the Centrists went right along with their proposals this whole time. They comprise half of the Senate.”

“Less now,” Statura said. 

“The Centrists were never the only problem,” Organa said. “My old faction when I was senator was just as fractious and unwilling to compromise. Many are more willing to listen now, but my representative just reported that they are no closer to uniting that they’ve ever been. Apart from finally giving the navy the budget increase they’ve been asking for and making all the necessary motions for a state of war, they’re stuck in the same blame game as always, Populists versus Centrists.”

 _Because the senatorial system doesn’t work._ Not that Armitage would be saying that out loud. It wouldn’t do to annoy his hosts by disparaging their beloved government. 

“Senate aside,” Ackbar said, “we can’t risk the First Order learning our secrets, which the New Republic military will demand to know.”

“So,” Organa said, arms crossed, “if we join them and hold ourselves accountable to the Senate, like we should, we give the First Order exactly what they want. And if we remain apart, they might brand us traitors just to get us to comply.”

“You were traitors during the Rebellion,” Armitage said. “That didn’t seem to bother you.”

Everyone shot him an incredulous look. 

“Glaring at me doesn’t make it less true,” he said.

“This isn’t at all the same thing,” Ackbar said.

“Alright, let’s not get sidetracked,” Organa said, looking like she needed a good, stiff drink. “The most important thing is to keep the First Order from winning. Like Ackbar said, we can’t share our information with the Republic without the First Order finding out. So we can’t, plain and simple.”

No one replied to that. Everyone in the room looked so thoroughly depressed that Armitage barely kept from rolling his eyes.

“Now that that’s settled,” he said. “We need to talk about resources. I can’t help but notice that you have only three battle cruisers, three of them tiny, and nearly all of your equipment is outdated.”

There were the glares again. At least it roused them from their annoying funk. 

“We’re working with what we can get,” Ematt said, sounding offended. “We don’t have the bottomless bank accounts that the First Order has.”

“They’re hardly bottomless. But I can grant you access to one of them. Mine. May I have my datapad, please?”

For a moment, no one moved.

“I think the First Order,” Statura said, “would have cut you off from their funds by now.”

Armitage rankled at his patronizing tone.

“Not their funds. Mine. I have my own accounts separate from theirs, which they can’t trace. Much like you do, I’m sure. When you work for such a temperamental man as Snoke, you want to make sure that you have a backup plan.”

Organa handed him his datapad. Armitage quickly looked up his accounts. Still there. Still intact. Obscuring the sensitive data, he projected the account amounts for all to see. Eyes went wide. 

“It’s like looking at the fortune of a weapons magnate on Canto Bight,” Statura said, amazed.

Armitage permitted himself a little smirk.

“I’m not even going to ask how you have all this money,” Organa said.

“It’s better that way. But, in case anyone is concerned about using blood money, would you rather I donated it to a lot of orphanages, or used it to save the galaxy, as you would put it? Mind you, I’m not offering you all my money. I have no intention of suddenly being poor. But this will help with the finances, won’t it?”

Consternation melted into begrudging acceptance. 

“If we’re staying independent from the Republic,” Organa said, “we could really use the funds. We need more of everything. Any objections?”

No one looked thrilled, but they weren’t saying no.

“Good,” Armitage said. “Now, about your ship shortage. We need to steal a Star Destroyer.”

``````````````````````````````

“We’re stealing a what?”

Poe gaped at Armitage in amazement, and no small amount of excitement. As soon as he’d gotten out of the meeting, Armitage had found Poe in the hangar and pulled him aside to an empty room to tell him. While high command wished to keep the plan secret while they worked out a viable strategy, Armitage had requested that he be allowed to tell Poe. Technically, he could have told Poe without permission. As he had no rank, he didn’t have to obey anyone, but it was better to play by the rules as much as possible, and he’d doubted that Organa would say no. 

“One of our shipyards is due to complete a Repulsor-class Star Destroyer in just under a month. No crew, except for what few builders are left when they’re done. They may have even loaded in a complement of TIE fighters if we’re lucky.”

“And they won’t see us coming,” Poe said, grinning wide. “They’ll never expect us to steal one of their best ships right from under them.”

“Exactly.”

Armitage shared Poe’s grin. His enthusiasm was so infectious, so beautiful. Poe’s whole face lit up, eyes sparkling, skin glowing. It hurt not to be able to touch him.

“So what’s the plan?” Poe asked.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. We’re still formulating it, in any case.”

“Right. I’ll find out later, then. This will be a huge boon for us. We can do some real damage with a Star Destroyer.”

“You did pretty well with just a squadron of X-wings. But yes, the state of this Resistance of yours is absolutely deplorable. You’re short on everything.”

“My Resistance?” Poe pointed between the two of them. “It’s our Resistance now. You signed up.”

“Technically, I’m only volunteering information. Notice my lack of rank.”

“You’ll get one eventually. It’s only a matter of time. You know, just because you were a general before, doesn’t mean that you’ll get such a high posting.”

“Major, at the very least.”

“I was thinking more like sergeant.”

Armitage narrowed his eyes in mock offence.

“After commanding armies? I would never accept that. It’s Major, or I walk.”

“Oh, you’ll walk, will you? Can’t stand being lower ranking than me, huh?”

“You just want to order me around, commander.”

“Maybe a little.”

Armitage only now realized how closely they’d leaned toward each other as they spoke. No, not spoke. As they flirted. Poe stood right under his nose, mere inches from him, looking up at him in a cocky tease. It would be so easy for Armitage to tilt his head down, to slide his hands along Poe’s back.

Poe’s smile slid from his face. He took a step back, suddenly looking away, scratching at his forehead. Armitage swallowed a sharp pang of regret. He’d noticed, too. 

“So,” Poe said, placing his hands on his hips, all but scuffing his feet. “We should…”

“Yes.”

Armitage folded his hands behind his back, his fingers fidgeting furiously. Poe stepped toward the door.

“Just one more thing,” Armitage said.

Poe stopped, turning back to him.

“Joking aside, I am doing more than volunteering information. I’ve kept large sums of money away from the First Order, so I’m helping to finance the Resistance.”

The awkwardness in Poe’s face retreated. He looked touched.

“That’s amazing,” he said, his voice soft. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”


	20. Chapter 20

Poe’s friends were waiting for them in the hangar. They tried their best to seem like they hadn’t been clustered together a second before Poe and Armitage walked inside, all pretending to be very concentrated on their X-wings. So focused as to not notice the First Order deserter whom they couldn’t quit staring at all of yesterday. Their performance was so pathetic that Armitage would have written them all up if they were his crew. Only BB-8 acknowledged their presence, rolling up to them with a chirpy greeting. 

“Hello, BB-8,” Armitage said, smiling politely. 

Their short exchange broke the ridiculous pretense around them. Finally, faces began turning toward them, beginning with the pilot’s closest to them, who was standing beside an open panel on the side of her ship. Dirty, scuffed gloves. Messy hair. A grease stain on her forehead. Maybe she actually had been doing some work.

“Hey, Jess,” Poe said to her, before turning to the rest of the hangar. “Guys. Stop pretending that you don’t see us. I know you must have posted a lookout to tell you that we were coming. Come on. I might as well introduce you to Armitage all at once.”

Every single person in the hangar dropped what they were supposedly doing and crowded around Armitage and Poe. Even the droids rushed up to them, zipping to the front so that they could see. Armitage felt like he was being paraded out for show. He was well accustomed to public speaking. Holding the attention of a crowd had never been a cause of anxiety once he’d gotten the hang of it, but he wasn’t giving orders now. He was a former hostile in enemy territory, pleading friendship to the locals’ wary disbelief. He considered folding his hands in front of him, as it would look less threatening, but it wouldn’t feel right. So he opted for his usual pose, only with his feet closer together, and his stance relaxed.

“This is more people than I thought it was going to be,” Poe whispered in his ear. 

Armitage would hope so. Over twenty people were currently assessing whether he had the right to breathe their air. 

“Okay,” Poe said, rubbing his hands together. “Guys, this is Armitage. Armitage Hux. Not general anymore. You all know what he’s done to help us, and he’s doing much more. I can’t tell you what yet, but he’s here to stay, and I know this is a weird transition, for him, too. I’m not asking anyone to like him. I know better than that. But, if you need to interact with him, can you please be polite to him? As a favor to me. I’d really appreciate it.”

Poe glanced at him, silently checking if Armitage was okay with what he said. Armitage smiled briefly, reassuring him. 

“Like Poe said,” Armitage addressed the crowd, “this is an awkward situation, and I would rather it stop being so sooner rather than later. However odd it might sound at first, I am a part of the Resistance now. I gave Poe my word, and I will honor it. And no one should have any doubts about me changing sides again after what I did. The First Order hates me even more than they hate you.” 

“That was one hell of a letter of resignation,” Jess said. 

“Fuck yeah, it was,” Poe said. 

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Armitage relaxed a little. If they found that amusing, there was hope for them not hating him, after all. At least, some of them.

“I had to assure you of my commitment somehow, didn’t I?” Armitage said.

“That will certainly do it,” a bearded man near the front said.

“So, “ Poe said, “there’s a lot of you, but I did promise to introduce you all properly. So I’m just going to go down the line. Not that there’s a line, so this might get messy.” He gestured toward Jess, who looked cautious despite her comment. “This is Jess Pava.”

Armitage and Jess nodded at each other.

“Her astromech Ivee. Karé Kun. Joph Seastriker. Iolo Arana. Snap Wexley.”

Wexley? 

“Pardon me,” Armitage said. “Are you related to Norra Wexley, by any chance? The Rebellion pilot?”

Snap narrowed his eyes.

“She’s my mom. Why?”

“Rae Sloane spoke to me of her. They worked together to defeat Gallius Rax.”

“They did what now?” Poe asked, looking at Snap, along with everyone else. “You never told me that.”

“I don’t tell you everything, Poe. But yeah, that happened. My mom’s a badass.” Snap turned to Armitage. “I remember Sloane. She had me thrown off a building after double crossing me.”

Oh. Not the sort of connection Armitage had been hoping for. 

“She withheld that piece of information,” Armitage said apologetically. 

“We’re cool, man,” Snap said, grinning. “The Rax thing settled all that.”

“I’m glad.”

Poe continued with the introductions. There were a few names he wasn’t sure of, as the group extended beyond his circle of friends. And was getting bigger. Word must have gotten out that Armitage was being presented to the masses, for people continued to trickle into the hangar. At one point, he saw Organa and Ackbar in his peripheral vision, standing by the entrance to the building. Even the stormtrooper showed up. Finn, not FN-2187. Poe had corrected Armitage when he asked what had become of him. 

“His name is Finn,” Poe had said firmly. “He’s a person, not a number.”

It was the only time so far that Poe had been irritated with him. Armitage had dreaded an interrogation of his past sins when he arrived at the base, but Poe had been oddly mum, except for this moment. 

Finn watched Armitage, silent, hanging off in the distance beside an X-wing, yet close enough for their eyes to meet in a quiet challenge. 

“And these are 3V,” Poe continued, “R5, and K4. I think that’s everyone.”

Finally. There were forty people in the hangar by now, and Armitage was starving. He’d completely forgotten that he hadn’t had anything to eat in six hours until his stomach reminded him fiercely after introduction number nineteen. No one else better show up. He would make nice with hem later. Or never. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” Armitage said. “I’m sure I’ll work with some of you eventually.”

He aimed for sincerity, but not so much that he gave away how false it actually was. Poe’s actual friends were the only ones he cared about, and Armitage couldn’t even tell who they were in this mess, except for Snap and Jess. 

“Okay, guys,” Poe said. “If you don’t mind, we’re going to have to go. We haven’t eaten anything since this morning and we're starving.”

The crowd dispersed, more curious and less wary than when they arrived, although Armitage still caught a couple of uncertain glances. Finn peeled away along with the rest, cautious, looking like Armitage was a puzzle that he couldn’t figure out how to solve. The urge to approach him seized Armitage, but now wasn’t the time. Why would he want to speak to the ex-trooper, in any case? Because they were both traitors to the First Order? What could a general and a stormtrooper have to say to each other? Besides, not a single suspicious glance had been cast in Finn’s direction. Finn had failed in his first mission out by refusing to take innocent life. He must have really played that up to receive such sympathy. 

“I’m assuming that you haven’t eaten anything,” Poe murmured to Armitage, diverting his attention.

“I haven’t. I’m famished.”

 _I told you to eat two hours ago_ , BB-8 reprimanded Poe. 

“I know. I was busy.” To Armitage, Poe added, lowering his voice again, “Do you mind if I invite a few of the guys? You didn’t actually get to talk to them.”

“Of course. That was the whole point.”

They needed to leave before everyone and their astromech decided to show up. Only a few people were left by now, the friends Armitage was actually interested in. Good. Snap, Jess, Karé, and Iolo. They all agreed to come to lunch, as expected. Even BB-8 accompanied them. Snap approached Armitage as they began to make their way to the mess hall.

“So you knew Sloane, huh?” he said. “Is she still around?”

“I’m afraid not. She died a few years go.”

“Oh. Should I be offering condolences? Were you two close? I doubt she’d tell just anybody about working with a rebel pilot.”

“She wouldn’t have, no. We were close. But no condolences are necessary, although they are appreciated.”

Poe joined Armitage at his right side. Now the whole group was listening in.

“So what’s this,” Poe asked Snap, “about your mom helping to take down Gallius Rax?”

“And who was Rax?” Karé asked. “Am I the only one who doesn’t know?”

“I don’t, either,” Iolo said. 

Both Armitage and Snap began speaking at once. 

“You go,” Snap told Armitage. “He was one of your guys. Well, one of your ex-guys.”

So Armitage explained, providing only a very edited version of events. Snap filled in the gaps with his mother’s and his own perspectives. He had actually fought in the Battle of Jakku. His friends had heard some of his stories, but there were still plenty of questions being tossed around. At both of them. And not only about Jakku, which Armitage could hardly speak on, as he’d only been five at the time. He braced himself for someone to ask about his less savory activities, but Poe’s presence at his side must have put them off. That didn’t preclude any of them finding him afterward for a less civilized chat, but, while Poe was around, everyone was respectful. And they were surprisingly good company. Well, perhaps not so surprising. Poe liked them, and Armitage liked Poe. 

Except for Snap, who mentioned his friend Sinjir (the ex-loyalty officer), Armitage wasn’t sure that any of them actually liked him back. Karé and Jess finished lunch considerably more at ease than when it began, although they still watched him carefully, doing a miserable job at hiding it. But Iolo remained alert and guarded, his questions always more serious than the others’, his large, Keshian eyes analyzing every single one of Armitage’s responses and reactions. As for BB-8, Armitage was still learning their body language, but they continued to be friendly.

By the end, Armitage wanted nothing more than to go on a long, quiet walk with no one around to bother him. Not terrible conversation aside, the effort of being social was exhausting. He’d much rather sit one on one with someone. Like with Poe when they first met. But he had no time for breaks. The Star Destroyer plan had to be determined as soon as possible, and the orders for new supplies had to be made. Armitage would hardly be paying for everything. Organa and the Resistance had their own funds, but it still put a smile on Armitage’s face to think of Resistance High Command making sure to stay in his good graces so that he’d do them the courtesy of buying what they wanted. 

``````````````````````````

Armitage awoke with a jerk. His breath rattled in his chest, hand shaking as he rubbed his face. Flashes of that crimson saber crawled in his eyes, that predatory hum shrieking in his ears as he ran through the pines on Starkiller Base, the ground crumbling beneath his feet. 

Armitage looked for Poe, but he wasn’t in bed. The refresher door was open, the room dark. The chrono read 4:56. His father would be here by now, so Poe must be with him. Armitage collapsed back on the mattress, covering his face, gasping around his clenching throat.

He jerked out of bed, running for the light switch. His eyes squeezed shut in pain at the sudden glare of the lights, as he huddled against the wall, panting. He wanted Poe, wanted to hold him, and for him to tell him that everything was alright. 

Fuck. _Pull yourself together, Armitage._ He’d survived three months without Poe. He could handle an hour or two.

_Pathetic cry-baby._

No! 

_Shut up! You’re dead! I killed you!_

_You’re dead._

Armitage trudged to the refresher, and splashed water on his face, swallowing furious handfuls. The shadows hollowed out his eyes in the mirror, making him feel like a ghost. 

He needed to get out. To move. He’d never be able to sleep now. He opened the window, and stuck his hand out, testing the temperature of the air. It was cool, but barely, pleasant enough for a walk to drive this miserable demons out of himself. He opened the closet door, reaching for a light, grey jacket, when his coat caught his eye. The First Order badge stared up at him, an accusatory glare. He’s thrown out the rest of the uniform, but they’d taken his knife from his sleeve, and he hadn’t found anything else to cut off the badge with that wouldn’t damage the cloth. 

Hesitantly, Armitage reached out and slowly touched the band on his coat sleeve, the highest honor he had achieved in his quest for relevance within the First Order. Two black strips lined with white stitching proclaimed his rank of general. He slid it off the sleeve and held it up to the light, stroking the embroidery with his fingertips. How proud he’d been when he slipped this on for the first time two years ago, the last survivor of the power game that had propelled Snoke to his throne. A throne that Armitage had once dreamed to make his. 

Why hadn’t he discarded this with the rest of the uniform? He hadn’t seen it as he quickly hung up the coat to deal with the badge later. It would only take a moment to toss it down the garbage chute as he walked out now.

Only… 

Armitage gazed at Poe’s clothes hanging on the left side of the rack. One of his jackets, worn, yet warm, brown leather, bore a battered Resistance insignia, the starbird. Poe must have seen the band on Armitage’s coat, but probably thought that it would soon be gone, along with the badge. 

Armitage pulled out a suitcase from under the bed, folded up the band, and stuffed it inside an interior pocket. He shoved the suitcase deep, wedging it all the way against the wall. 

Shame twitched in his gut. He ignored it, gritting his teeth. 

Voices filled the hallway as he opened the door, murmurs in the distance, but sharp and clear. A man he didn’t recognize spoke.

“… know it’s hard to find someone who respects your boundaries, but him?”

And Poe.

“He’s making up for what he’s done. He’s helping us. And I’m not getting back together with him, okay? He knows that. Please, dad, try. For me. And please sleep. You didn’t get more than a couple of hours on the transport.”

Poe’s footsteps began to turn toward his apartment. Quickly, Armitage shut the door and ripped off his jacket, flinging it on the bed. Controlling his breathing into a steady rhythm, he waited until he heard Poe entering the access code to pick up the jacket and put it back on. Poe stopped at the threshold, eyes widening as he saw Armitage, guilt flashing on his face too quickly to disguise. His hair was a mess, clearly from running his hands through it too many times. 

“You’re awake,” Poe said uselessly, as if he needed to fill the silence with something.

“I’m going for a walk,” Armitage said. “I couldn’t sleep any more. Are you alright?”

Showing concern was easy, for Armitage genuinely felt it, but disguising his hurt was not. Yet Poe had told him that he wouldn’t take him back, not in any romantic sense, not now that he knew what he’d crawled into bed with, so this ache weeping in Armitage’s chest was his own, stupid fault.

Poe nodded, hiding his face in the closet as he took off his jacket.

“Yeah. Fine. Just tired. It’s been a while since I’ve seen my dad.”

“How is he?”

“Not happy, but he’s dealing. The bounty got him rattled. You know how parents worry— Shit, I’m sorry.” Poe squeezed his eyes shut when he realized his mistake, turning to Armitage. “I didn’t think before I spoke. Sorry.”

Armitage burned with the need to get as far away from here as he could before his throat closed. 

“It’s okay. Mother did worry.”

For as little time as she could. 

“I look forward to meeting him in the morning,” Armitage said, exhaustion dragging down his limbs, feeling like a giant squeezed his head in its grip. “Or today, I suppose.”

Poe nodded, hands lingering too long on the closet door as he slid it closed. 

“I’m glad,” he said, looking down at the floor before trying for a brief smile.

“I’ll be back,” Armitage said, opening the door and rushing out.


	21. Chapter 21

Armitage needed two cups of tea to get through that morning’s strategy meeting. The Republic military had reacted as badly as had been expected. Organa and Armitage had both needed to speak to the chancellor to convince him that there were First Order moles in his armed forces, and that if the Resistance shared their secrets, the galaxy was doomed to tyranny. As they wished for it to be doomed to incompetent bureaucracy instead (phrased much more delicately, of course), they had no choice but to remain an independent organization working with the Republic’s forces. The chancellor agreed to take this proposal to the Senate, who would waste who knew how long debating about it before voting. All in all, Armitage felt that his time would have been better spent watching paint dry on an X-wing. 

As far as the Star Destroyer heist was concerned, they had developed a main plan, and a backup plan, so, at least, Armitage was able to leave the meeting room with some sense of accomplishment.

That is, until he saw who waited for him outside. The man was unmistakable. Poe’s bearing, his nose, his eyes, his chin, his height, all in a man in his fifties who stared at Armitage as if he were an annoying pest that had infested his yard. His hair was greying, but still shared Poe’s dark brown. Retirement had done nothing to diminish his strength, fit biceps showing through the rolled up sleeves of his practical, green shirt. He stood with a wide, firm stance, arms crossed over his chest, projecting intimidation. Or perhaps that was just the fear whimpering in Armitage’s belly. 

Where was Poe? He was supposed to be here when Armitage met his father to run interference. This man despised him. This morning’s overheard conversation made that obvious, as well as the withering stare he leveled at Armitage this very moment. 

“So you’re Armitage,” Kes Dameron said.

His voice was weighed down with deep resignation. 

“Sergeant Dameron,” Armitage said, perfectly polite and deferential. “I didn’t expect to meet you in the hallway like this.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here. I wanted to meet you alone so I can speak my mind without Poe getting mad at me. Let’s find somewhere to talk.”

“Alright.”

Armitage silently followed Dameron down the hall and out of the building, ignoring a fresh round of stares. Would these damn people ever quit staring at him? Although, in this instance, this might be good. If word reached Poe that his father was with Armitage, he’d come running. Unless people didn’t realize that this was Poe’s father, in which case, it would come to nothing. Despair sank in Armitage’s stomach. 

They found a quiet spot behind a bunker. Armitage squinted in the sun, his long sleeved shirt and jacket suddenly oppressive in the noonday heat, as well as by the renewed stare of Poe’s disapproving father.

“First of all,” Dameron said. “I want to say that I’m grateful to you for saving Poe from that Star Destroyer. I am. It being your Star Destroyer, I’m not happy about. He assures me that you had nothing to do with his capture.”

“I didn’t. I never wanted to put Poe in danger. I tried to protect him.”

“You were a general in the First Order. Poe was your enemy. How exactly were you going to manage that?”

“That is why I left the First Order. So we wouldn’t be enemies.”

“After four months. You were together for over a month. I remember. He was so excited about you. Then you broke up. He wouldn’t tell me what happened. I didn’t push it. He was devastated. I couldn’t believe it when he finally told me this morning. I couldn’t believe that you of all people would defect. It’s like hearing that Tarkin joined the Rebellion.”

Armitage breathed slowly through his nose, hands twitching behind his back.

“I assure you,” he said, “as implausible as it may sound, I am fully committed to the Resistance.”

“Because you love my son?”

“I do.”

“Then why did it take you so long to leave the First Order? It’s been three months since you broke up. Were you not sure?”

Armitage clutched his wrists.

“I have been in the Empire and the First Order my entire life. To even consider breaking with it was inconceivable at first, no matter the circumstance. And I was sure that Poe would never let me near him again. I needed time to determine what I really wanted. I’m not proud of how long it took me to realize how untenable our situation was. I should have been here a long time ago. But I am here now.”

Dameron didn’t look fully satisfied by that answer, but he nodded. 

“Okay. But you don’t actually believe in what we’re fighting for, do you? The Republic? The right of people to live without oppression?”

Shit.

“I have promised to uphold those ideals.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Armitage breathed deeply through his nose, endeavoring to remain calm. 

“I am trying.”

“Trying? Do you think you’ll ever get there? Because that doesn’t sound good enough.”

“Not good enough for your son?”

Dameron narrowed his eyes at the sudden confrontation in Armitage’s tone.

“No. You’re not. You may be helping now, but that doesn’t erase what you did with the First Order.”

“Well, Poe won’t take me back, so you don’t have to worry about having me as a son-in-law.”

“But he’s still friends with you.”

“Yes, he is. And he knows what I’ve done. I told him everything.”

Disbelief and repugnance flashed across Dameron’s face.

“Yes, he knows,” Armitage said. “And he still chooses to allow me in his life, and unless he tells me to leave him alone, I will be there for him. It’s his decision, not yours. And I’m not trying to erase anything. I can’t change what I’ve done. I can only honor my promise to Poe, and I will. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see that there’s no point in continuing to try to convince you of my sincerity.”

Armitage sidestepped him before Dameron could say anything else, moving swiftly on the grass.

“Hux!” Dameron called after him, his feet moving.

Armitage quickened his pace, circling the bunker and stepping onto the wide, concrete walkway in the midst of the base. Dameron stopped behind him, clearly not wishing to threaten him in front of the people passing by. Armitage walked furiously, jaw tense, his thoughts scrambled and angry, hands fisted at his sides. 

Armitage not good enough for Poe? How dare he say such a thing? Armitage had given up everything for Poe. His whole life. His convictions. His ambitions. His promise to Rae to honor her dream. No, he didn’t believe in the Republic, but was he not doing everything in his power to uphold it despite that? Wasn’t he destroying the very thing that had given him purpose for most of his life? Hadn’t he almost died to be here?

He jerked to a stop. His breaths choked him, too fast, too hard, too sharp. That kyber hum shrieked in his ear. He flinched, biting back a scream. It roared in his bones, pleading to let lose, to beat and bleed until every muscle in him sobbed with soreness and he had no energy left to so much as open his eyes.

He gasped, chest heaving, hands fisted so tightly that his knuckles hurt.

Fuck. 

No one had seen him crumble, had they? Armitage opened his eyes and looked around, shoulders still tensed as tightly as a bow string, bracing himself for a blow that never came. A few people stood and walked in the distance, none of them facing in his direction. His boots sank in mud, grass slick under his feet. The thoroughfare had ended, the edge of the concrete lying behind him. Sweat pooled at his back, soaking his shirt. 

He took off his jacket, crushing it in his right hand. The sun still blared too fiercely, stinging his eyes, making them water. Avian calls sounded overhead. He looked up as a flock of broad-winged birds swooped past him, dark against the glare of the sun, flying above the high tree line, lost in the vast mass of green. The forest stood only a few feet away, barely held back from the base, vast root systems reaching through the ground and piercing through the man-made structures. Not pines, like he’d grown accustomed to on Starkiller Base. These were tropical trees, standing just as tall, but so much broader, branches stretching out as far as they could reach seeking the sun, their verdant leaves swaying in the breeze with a soft, swishing sound. A wealth of noises emanated from within, all sorts of grunts and chirps filling the air. A sudden gust of wind hit Armitage, loosening his hair and beating it against his face. He swept it back, but it wouldn’t stay. He gave up, slumping forward, and let the strands obscure his vision, waving back and forth like the leaves.

He glimpsed a dark shape on the edge of his vision. A slab, polished and finely cut. Armitage moved toward it, treading through the wind. Names were inscribed on the charcoal-grey rock in blinding white. The starbird arose on the top, left corner. 

_To those who gave their lives for a free galaxy. May the Force be with you._

A memorial. It stood two meters high and three meters across. Only a quarter was filled, the empty space waiting for more deaths the makers knew were yet to come. Armitage read, only recognizing a few names from reports. 

Then he found them. L’ulo L’ampar and Muran. Muran hadn’t been a member of the Resistance, yet he had died fighting the First Order. Poe and the other members of Rapier Squadron must have asked that his name be included here. Both of them, dead because Armitage failed. Below their names, a whole column of new names. Those who had died on Starkiller Base and at the Republic bases, no doubt. They weren’t enough names to include all the Republic fighters, yet plenty to mark the devastation to such a small organization as the Resistance. How many of them had Poe known? How many was he grieving for?

“What are you doing here?”

Armitage turned at the sound of the voice. A woman stood behind him. Young, barely in her twenties, her black hair swept back in an untidy ponytail, though some spilled at the sides of her face, work coveralls covered in grease. A mechanic, perhaps, but her job wasn’t as relevant as the disgusted fury glittering in her eyes.

“I beg your pardon,” Armitage said. “I was only—”

“What? Looking for people you’ve killed?”

Armitage frowned, at a sudden loss.

“No. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Wouldn’t you? Well, I don’t know what you First Order types would do.”

“I’m no longer in the First Order. I’m with the R—”

“Yeah, sure. You’re Resistance now. I get it. That’s what Poe said. What General Organa said. What everyone said. You took down the shields on Starkiller. You’re giving us information. That’s all great. It’s only the decent thing to do. I’m not giving you points for acting like a good person for once. My parents are up there.”

She pointed at the memorial.

“They died when your people conquered my planet. For all I know, you were there, too. So I don’t want to hear it. Stay on the base. Whatever. But that doesn’t give you the right to be here with them.”

She strode up to the memorial, glaring him down despite standing a foot shorter than him. Armitage’s lips parted, but he couldn’t think of anything that he could possibly say that would help either of them. If he tried to defend himself, she might hit him. 

He would let her. 

Tilting his head down deferentially, he stepped back and walked away, the weight of the stone slab crushing his back.


	22. Chapter 22

Armitage’s comlink rang, slowing him down to a trot. His muscles had been burning from his run for the past, few minutes, sleep-deprivation making his head sore, but he had pushed on, the pain of movement preferable to standing still and thinking about the miserable, shit of a day this had been.

No one had accosted him on the way to Poe’s flat to change into his athletic gear. If someone had, Armitage wasn’t sure that he could have kept himself from punching them. Ire had growled under his skin, growing with every motion as he yanked off his clothes and pulled on running gear. He usually jogged on a treadmill, but the base had an exterior track, as well, and he couldn’t stand being cooped up inside with more judging looks. As soon as he convinced himself that his muscles had warmed up enough, he took off in a run, desperate to get away from everything. There were a few others on the track, but he ignored them, and they did the same. 

He didn’t hear the comlink at first, then he pretended that he didn’t. It stopped after a while, then rang again. Armitage finally gave up and slowed down. 

It was Poe. Of course it was. Armitage answered, keeping the camera off.

“Hey,” he said, steading himself into a brisk walk.

“Hey. Where are you?”

“At the track. Please ignore my panting breaths.”

There was a pause.

“My dad told me ambushed you.” Frustration radiated off Poe’s voice. “He didn’t phrase it like that, but it was obvious. He’s mad at me because he didn’t think I knew everything you did. He thought… He hoped you were still lying to me. What did he tell you? And why aren’t you turning the camera on?”

Armitage brushed his hair off his forehead, slumping forward as the thoughts and emotions he’d been running from built up anew in a vicious scream.

“I’m sweaty and gross,” he said.

“Okay, now I’m worried.”

“It’s nothing your father said. He disapproves of me. Doesn’t want me near you. That’s expected.”

“Then why don’t you want me to see your face?”

Armitage dug his nails into his palms.

“I saw the memorial. Saw Muran and L’ulo’s names. Someone came up to me. Didn’t want me there. Understandable. It’s been a rough day, that’s all. I’m fine.”

Silence echoed on the line. He heard a long, tired sigh.

“Meet me by your shuttle.”

Armitage frowned at the comlink.

“What for?”

“Just meet me, please.”

Poe hung up. Armitage stared at the comlink, dread slicing through him, then turned on his heel toward the airstrip. Poe wanted to talk. He wanted somewhere private, more so than his flat, but choosing a First Order vessel couldn’t be mere convenience. 

Shit. 

Armitage hadn’t dared to mention any of his past actions, and Poe had so kindly not said a word, except for that moment of irritation over Finn not having a proper name until Poe gave him one. Poe knew exactly what foul crimes Armitage had committed, yet the only recrimination he had voiced so far was over Armitage murdering his own father. 

The time had come. Whatever Poe was feeling, whatever rage and disgust he’d been pushing down for Armitage’s sake, it would all come out now, and there wasn’t a damn thing that Armitage could do about it other than brace himself and beg for mercy. 

The tall wings of the shuttle came into view. They had never felt threatening before, yet they filled him with dismay. The shuttle grew bigger in his sight as he trudged toward it. Poe already waited beside it, pacing in tight circles, arms alternating between swinging at his sides and resting on his hips. He stopped upon seeing Armitage, and moved to the console at the shuttle’s right side. Armitage brushed his hair back, trying to salvage at least some of his appearance, as if that might possibly aid him in winning some measure of forgiveness. Poe should at least have given him a chance to change and shower before he… 

Before whatever he was going to do to him.

“Please excuse my appearance,” Armitage said, punching in the access code. “I told you I look repugnant.”

“Yeah, you’re hideous. Me, I never sweat, and always look like I’m going on a night on the town when I work out.”

Armitage watched Poe, unsure whether he should trust his levity. Poe rolled his eyes.

“You’ve smelled me coming out of a cockpit,” he said. “Come on. And please stop freaking out. Now I’m freaking out.”

“I’m not freaking out.”

They climbed up the boarding ramp.

“You clearly are.”

Armitage closed the boarding ramp.

“You wouldn’t tell me why we’re meeting here.”

“So we can talk.”

“Here specifically? Why here in the First Order ship? Why not in your room?”

Armitage led Poe to the passenger compartment behind the cockpit, for everyone would be able to see them through the cockpit’s wide viewport. 

“We might run into my dad,” Poe said, “and neither of us wants that right now.”

Oh. Armitage hadn’t considered that. He stopped by the opposite side of the room beside the bed, which was pressed against the bulwark, crossing his arms, embarrassment and uncertainty boiling through him.

“Alright,” he said. “So. What do you want to talk about first? Your dad or the memorial?”

Poe deflated a bit, his shoulders dropping.

“It looks like the memorial was the worst of it.”

“They were both bad. But yes, the memorial was slightly worse.”

Armitage explained how he came across it, his guilt when he saw the names, and his speechless discomfort at the woman’s rightful fury. Poe moved closer as he spoke, concerned, always so concerned. How could he, the good, Republic idealist, bear what Armitage had done to the good people of his galaxy and yet still care about him? 

“I’m sorry that happened,” Poe said. “But I knew that it would eventually.”

“She was right to kick me out. I had no place there.”

“I agree.”

Armitage stared at Poe, surprised.

“You feel bad, don’t you?” Poe asked.

Armitage nodded, eyes narrowing.

“Good. You should. I’d be scared if you didn’t.”

Of course, Poe was relieved that Armitage had a conscience. 

“I don’t… I don’t feel the same depth of guilt that you would feel. Although, you wouldn’t have been involved, in the first place.”

Armitage held his breath, shocked by his own confession, and terrified of what Poe’s confused frown might mean, but they needed to have this out already, and it might as well be now.

“You mean, you don’t feel as bad as you think that you should?”

“I’m not as remorseful as you would want me to be.”

Poe sighed, crossing his arms.

“We’ve been over this. I know you’re not here because you suddenly felt terrible about conquering people.”

“But you wish I would, don’t you?”

“Honestly? I’d like you to at least acknowledge that it’s wrong. When you were a kid, when you ordered those other kids to hit each other, it disturbed you. You still did it, which I don’t like, but something inside you said it was wrong. Right?”

Armitage looked away, tension radiating down his shoulders.

“Poe, please don’t fool yourself into believing me a better person than I actually am. You and Organa, you both insist that there’s a good person inside me, but just because I feel a little ashamed sometimes and I’m doing all I can to destroy the First Order, and I remember how my mother was kind and how she asked me to be, too… I still don’t believe in the Republic. I don’t think the senatorial system works. I’m not interested in people I have no connection to. I don’t feel anything when I hear of some tragedy that happened far away that doesn’t affect me. I don’t understand how you can feel so much for people you don’t even know. I’m trying. Your father asked me if I believed in the Republic, and I said I was trying. For you. For the memory of my mother, who I have been shaming all these years for being so much like—”

Armitage sucked in his breath, squeezing his eyes shut. The next words ground on his tongue, as painful as acid.

“Like my father. Like that wretched beast. I would purge his blood from my flesh if I could, but I can’t. I can’t. I can never be like you.”

“I don’t want you to be like me. I know who you are.”

“Have you forgiven me? You were so disgusted when you first found out who I am. How were you able to get past that?”

“Because you left. Because of what you’re doing now. What do you want from me? Do you want me to shout at you? Do you want me to tell you how much it hurt that the man I love stole children from their parents to turn them into brainwashed soldiers? Helped subjugate entire planets? That he murdered people without any compunction? Is that what you want to hear?”

Poe’s voice shook. His hands flailed about, punctuating every trembling word, eyes glittering with anger and sadness and pain. Pain Armitage had put there. Why had Armitage said anything? Why was he forcing Poe to go through this?

“Yes.”

Because they needed to do this. Needed to eliminate the doubt. It infected every single interaction they’d had since Armitage had first greeted him in the hangar. Every word, every touch trembled with frightened uncertainty. 

“You want to hear that?” Poe looked even more furious, lips pressed into a tight line. “I don’t want to fucking say it, but fine. I threw up. When Leia showed me the footage of that young you on that shuttle, I ran into the bathroom and threw up. I couldn’t stomach food for the rest of the day. I called you, heard you declare your love for me, and my skin crawled. I didn’t believe you. I couldn’t believe you. How could General Hux love me? How could you be the same person who rented me a sunsail? Who begged for comfort because you were insecure? Who let me cry on your shoulder? I had no fucking clue who you were. I couldn’t sleep without sleeping pills for two weeks. I couldn’t sleep. 

“You kept messaging me and I wanted it to stop, but… I needed to know. Who you really are. You begged for me to take you back, but then you turned cold. The look in your face when you said you would eradicate your love for me, as if it were a virus…” Poe shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “It sickened me. Is that what love was to you? A disgusting inconvenience?”

Poe paused, red rimmed eyes begging for an answer.

“Yes,” Armitage said, voice small. “After my mother’s death, I was never encouraged to consider it anything else. I didn’t even know I was still capable of it.”

“But you are. You loved me on Hosnian Prime. And on Mirrin. And by continuing to message me, and by not taking advantage of my invitation to destroy the Resistance. That’s why I finally replied to you. I couldn’t get that out of my head. You kept talking about your great ambition to conquer the galaxy, but you wouldn’t get rid of us. So you had to really love me. And if you could love me, a Resistance pilot, then I had to believe that there was hope. In you. In us. Your father may have been garbage, but your mother wasn’t. You’re her son, too. Her son is the man I fell in love with. Who fell in love with me.”

Poe grabbed Armitage’s arms like he had at the hangar, warm eyes gazing up at him. Armitage forgot how to breathe. 

“Your father’s son is the part of you didn’t tell me about,” Poe said. “You told me about him, but not that. But I’m not trying to forget him. There’s only one you, not two halves walking around. You did those horrible things, and I despise them. But you’re not the same person I met in Hosnain Prime. That you would have never left the First Order, else you would have quit the instant I broke up with you. And I would have never been with a First Order general. I would have taken you into the Resistance immediately.”

“You weren’t in the Resistance yet.”

“I would have found them somehow.”

Armitage couldn’t help smiling at Poe’s determination.

“I’m sure you would have. I can see your reasoning, but I’m not sure it’s helpful.”

Poe lowered his hands, crossing his arms. Yet he didn’t move away.

“Why not?” 

“We’re all different people at different times, yes, but we’re still responsible for what we’ve done before.”

“Of course we are. That’s why I’m glad that you felt bad at the memorial. Ecstatic. You want to make me happy? Keep feeling guilty. Feel remorse.”

“The emotions I just told you I don’t feel as well as you.”

“But you feel something. A year ago. If you had been in that same situation a year ago, what would you have done?”

Sneered at the girl and killed her, then blown up the monument. Armitage might have felt an unpleasant twinge of something, but nothing he hadn’t trained himself to ignore.

“I wouldn’t have felt guilty.”

“See? That’s what I’m talking about. That change right there.”

Oh, God. Armitage sank on the bed, absolutely drained. Why did everyone insist on missing the point? He didn’t want to feel these things. He didn’t care about being a good person. All he wanted was to do right by Poe. That was it. Not by some random girl, and certainly not by the whole galaxy.

“I don’t want to feel guilty,” he said. “Even for you.”

“No one does. That’s the point. But you still feel it, don’t you?”

Armitage dropped his head in his hands.

“Yes, damn it. I hate it.”

Poe sat next to him.

“And it had nothing to do with me.”

Armitage raised his head. Poe was smiling.

“What?”

“The girl today. She’s not a friend of mine. Not part of high command, so not someone you have to impress. Sure, you already felt bad about Muran and L’ulo…” Hurt pinched Poe’s face. “I don’t blame you for their deaths, by the way. Not anymore. I’m not sure if I ever really did, or if I just wanted everything to be your fault. But the girl.” Poe shrugged. “Nothing to do with me. That was just about you and her, not me.”

Fuck. 

Poe was right. She had nothing to do with him, just that they both happened to be in the Resistance, but Armitage hadn’t thought about Poe at all when he held his tongue and backed away from the memorial. He’d just wondered if he truly had been involved in her family’s slaughter. She hadn’t told him the name of her planet, so he couldn’t even know. 

Fuck. 

Poe grinned at him, obnoxiously happy at Armitage’s horror. 

“That’s why I’ve forgiven you,” Poe said, patting Armitage’s shoulder. “Of course I haven’t forgotten what you did, that’s impossible. But I have hope in you. And you know how annoying we rebel types are about hope.”

`````````````````````````

Armitage gave up and sank down on the bed, possessing no more energy to remain upright. The cold grey of the ceiling smirked back at him, laughing. Exactly the same as every, other ceiling he had spent his life under, a fierce, forbidding shell designed to keep the treacherous rebels out. He looked at his own treacherous rebel, who sat beside him, leaning forward on his elbows, then down at his own hands. Rebel hands, as well. Traitor’s hands. Traitor to the First Order. To his mother. To Poe. To himself. Technically, to his father, too, but that asshole destroyed him by inches first. Fuck him. 

“There is one thing,” Poe said, not looking at him, “I haven’t wanted to ask. I already know the answer, but… Terex. What did you do with him?”

Poe turned his head, peering at Armitage over his shoulder.

“I executed him,” Armitage said.

Poe lowered his head.

“Yeah,” he said. “I knew you would when I handed him over.”

Poe expelled his breath in a loud sigh, rubbing his face.

“I did it myself. I was angry. It wasn’t quick.”

Armitage felt at his sleeve for his missing knife, a flutter of pleasure rising at the memory of the man’s screams. 

“I knew that, too,” Poe said.

Poe’s shoulders were hunched, as if seeking to hide himself from his own complicity. Armitage reached for his back, yet dropped his hand before making contact.

“I watched you,” Armitage said, “handing him over in the transport’s security footage.”

“I didn’t have a choice about that. Your guys showed up and demanded him.”

“I sent them with vivid imagery of what I would do to them if they harmed you or your squadron. I’m sorry they weren’t there in time for L’ulo.”

Poe turned to him, grief in his eyes.

“Thanks.”

“I saw your face. I figured out that you’d lost him. I saw your fury.”

“I wouldn’t have killed Terex for revenge. The Resistance would have interrogated him. Kept him prisoner.”

“You didn’t seem to mind the exchange too much.”

Poe shifted on the bed, facing Armitage, brow knit in desperate frustration.

“We just finished talking about how you’re becoming a better person, and now you’re turning it around on me? I didn’t ask you to kill him.”

“I’m not saying that you’re turning dark. You never could. You shine so brightly that you blind me. But most people have moments, even you. Are you displeased that I killed him? He was a crime lord and a murderer.”

“So were you.”

“Hm.”

Poe rubbed his fingers in his lap, considering.

“I would rather you’d made it quick,” he said. 

“Okay.”

“I… I slept better knowing that he couldn’t come after me and my people again.”

Armitage watched him, taking no pleasure in Poe’s discomfort, yet leaning towards his begrudging confession just the same. Poe’s gaze flicked up to his.

“I’m not going to say that I’m glad you killed him.”

“I’m not looking for you to.”

“But I am glad he’s dead. I shouldn’t be. It’s wrong. I don’t like it. But it’s true. I didn’t have a choice in handing him over, but I knew I’d just given him to you, and I knew what you would do. I was relieved. I don’t believe in capital punishment. I don’t consider it justice. But I did want revenge in that moment, and I knew you’d give it to me. But I don’t want you to do that for me again.”

Armitage propped himself up on his elbows.

“It wasn’t only for you, you know.”

“Armitage.”

“Alright. No more vengeance outside of the battlefield. You know that’s different.”

“I could get into nuances, but fine, yes. Agreed.”

```````````````````

“So what happened with my dad?” Poe asked.

They’d both settled comfortably on the bed, lying face up. The mattress was wide enough that they didn’t have to touch. Pity.

“He began by thanking me for saving you from the _Finalizer_.” Armitage inhaled deep into his lungs, frustration grinding inside him. “Then he reprimanded me for taking so long to defect, for not truly believing the Republic’s ideals. He said that my helping now doesn’t erase what I did. It doesn’t, I acknowledge that, but he’s not as charitable as you in thinking that it might make up for it. He said I’m not good enough for you.”

Poe shifted on the mattress.

“That’s pretty much what he told me this morning. Only… well, worse.”

Armitage frowned at him.

“He was even angrier with you?”

Poe shrugged.

“I’m the good guy, remember? My mom’s legacy. The Rebellion’s legacy. He brought it all up. I should have cut you off immediately. Stopped listening to your messages. It’s great that I turned you to our side, but I should keep my distance now. That you don’t… you don’t deserve my friendship. That you could be dangerous. Can you believe that? Not like you’ll raise a hand to me, but like… The bounty scares him. It really does. And it’s so high because of our connection, because the First Order knows. And… And he wants me to get over you. And how am I supposed to do that if I’m sharing my bunk with you?”

Armitage’s fingers curled at his sides, his breath suddenly short and laborious. He glanced at Poe from the corner of his eyes, not daring to look too close, afraid that Poe might bolt under the scrutiny. Poe stared pointedly at the ceiling, hands still on his chest. Too still.

“I didn’t,” Armitage said, speaking softly, even the air around them feeling unbearably fragile. “Didn’t acknowledge earlier, with everything else, when you said you love me.”

Poe’s silence felt as oppressive as a knife to the throat.

“Yet you spoke of it,” Armitage continued, “as loving the me from before. But I saw it, when you spoke of almost killing Kylo Ren over me. There was love in your terror. Do you love the me that is here right now?”

Poe turned to him. Armitage held his breath. Poe raised his right hand, paused, then stroked Armitage’s cheek with his knuckles. Armitage’s breath shuddered, body screaming with the effort to not take Poe’s hand and kiss it.

“Yeah,” Poe said softly, smiling. But it was a sorrowful smile, withering in an instant. 

“But you don’t want to love me,” Armitage said, talking past a lump in his throat.

Poe dropped his hand.

“I don’t know what I want. I want it to stop, but I don’t. I want to be with you, but I also don’t. Or I shouldn’t. I don’t know which one it is. When I look at you, I see the man who gave up everything for me, but also the one who brainwashed children to become soldiers. I know I was so determined about the different sides of you earlier, but I’m still integrating them for myself. This is a process for me, too. I don’t know where I’m going to land. You keep begging me every time you look at me. I can see that you’re not doing it on purpose. I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but I can feel it. I can feel you piercing inside me and pleading.” Poe pressed at the center of his chest, digging in. “Please, Poe. Please, take me back. Please hold me. Please kiss me.”

Armitage blinked hard. His chest ached.

“I’m not doing it on purpose, I swear. I’ve been trying to give you space.”

Poe nodded, turning slightly on his side.

“I know. You’re respecting my wishes, and it just makes me love you more. But I shouldn’t—” Poe shut his eyes, shaking his head at himself. “I shouldn’t get your hopes up. This is why I haven’t said anything. I can’t promise you anything. When I’ll be ready. If I’ll ever be ready. I don’t want you waiting with the expectation that our relationship will ever be what it was. That’s not fair to you.”

Armitage touched Poe’s right hand, which lied fisted on the mattress. Poe didn’t pull away.

“Would it help if I had my own room?” he asked, terrified of Poe’s answer.

“Probably, but I don’t want you to leave.”

Armitage sighed with relief.

“See?” Poe said, smiling brokenly. “There you go begging again.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know.” 

Poe covered Armitage’s hand with his left. 

“You held me after my nightmare,” Armitage said.

“I’m not going to leave you suffering. You needed me.”

“Thank you.”

Poe squeezed his hand.

“Again, you don’t need to thank me. I’m here. I don’t know how yet. But I’m here.”

“No matter what your dad says?”

Poe dropped his head on the bed, groaning.

“God, that’s going to be a nightmare.” 

Poe fell on his back, his left hand sliding off Armitage’s as he did so.

“He needs to process,” Poe said. “Time. That’s what he needs. I just told him hours ago. Damn, I hope it’s that easy. It’s not going to be that easy, is it?”

Armitage shook his head, remembering the repulsion in Dameron’s face at the unspeakable notion that his golden child might have a friend like him. Poe groaned again, covering his face with his hands. 

“I spoke back to him,” Armitage said. “Told him that I wouldn’t be leave you unless you told me to. He didn’t like that. Then I walked off and left him standing there, since there was no point in continuing to speak to him.”

“Did you say that last part?”

Armitage nodded.

“Ah, crap. He hates it when people keep him from having his say.”

“He yelled my name after me, too, but I didn’t turn around.”

“Fuuuck. No wonder he’s even more pissed off at you now. He’s furious. I wouldn’t tell him anything you did. He hated that. He’s probably asking around right now, not that anyone will be able to tell him much. He’s a sergeant. That doesn’t give him much clearance.”

“Is he sighing up to fight?”

Poe nodded. 

“Might as well. He said he couldn’t be here and do nothing.”

Now Poe would have his father’s safety to worry him, too. 

“I overheard a bit of your argument this morning,” Armitage said. “I pretended not to have, because I didn’t wish things to be awkward. It was just about him not understanding how you could be with me. You not taking me back and asking him to be nice to me.”

Poe sat up.

“Which he completely ignored. And let’s face facts. This is awkward. Every single thing about us right now is awkward. So let’s stop worrying about it, okay? We’re just making it worse.”

Armitage nodded. 

“You’re right.”

“Okay. So. We give my dad time to deal. You give him a wide berth. I’m not saying run if you see him, but… Maybe that wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world. No. Don’t run.”

“I’ll engage him as politely as I can, without allowing him to insult me.”

“Good. Yes. And I’ll try to convince him not to insult you. If he’ll even let me talk. You know, the Rebellion was filled with Empire defectors. Stuffed full. He worked with some of them.”

“I’m not sure it’s wise to call your angry father a hypocrite.”

“Well, he is being one.”

“He did compare the shock of my defection as being tantamount to Tarkin joining the Rebellion.”

Poe grimaced.

“To be honest, I have heard that one before. There were some who thought the news was some sort of weird, practical joke.”

“I don’t suppose I can blame them.”

Poe stood up. Regret weighing gravely on him, Armitage did so, as well. They’d already spent far too long in this shuttle. 

“So,” Poe said, regarding him uncertainly. “Are we good? About us? Not good, but… You know what I mean.”

Armitage smiled reassuringly.

“I’m afraid I can’t control my reactions as well as I thought, but I’ll give you all the time you need. Don’t worry about me. Just, please tell me when you do decide, even if it’s not the answer I want. I’ll be fine.”

Poe smiled back for a second, breathing hard through his nose.

“Thanks.”


	23. Chapter 23

Armitage didn’t see Poe’s father for the rest of the day, a small mercy. When he returned to the bunk, he found Poe slouching in his chair while scrolling through his datapad, frustration etched in his face. He looked up at Armitage and shook his head.

“Not yet,” he said.

The next day brought no improvement in Dameron’s disposition. The night before, Armitage had decided not to care whether Dameron ever liked him or not, or even tolerated him. Armitage only cared about Poe, not his father. 

Except that he did care, precisely because he was Poe’s father, a proper one, unlike the scum Armitage had the great misfortune of being descended from, and Poe loved him and really wanted him and Armitage to get along. Poe didn’t say it, but Armitage could see his frustrated yearning in the disappointed bend of his back as Poe said that he wasn’t even going to try to speak to his father anymore. Poe had decided to quit begging and give his father space to reconsider his position.

“If he wants to talk,” Poe said, “he knows where to find us.”

Yet despite his firm determination, the weight of the rift slumped Poe’s whole body as he left the bunk. He hadn’t seen his father in months, and now, because of Armitage, they weren’t even speaking. Guilt ripped through Armitage, stinging so much worse because there wasn’t a damn thing that he could do to fix things. Poe’s sadness was his father’s fault this time, not his. 

Alright, some of his melancholy was Armitage’s doing, but he would endeavor to disguise his feelings more thoroughly so Poe wouldn’t feel remotely pressured or uncomfortable. If Poe decided that he didn’t wish to renew their romantic attachment, Armitage would abide by his wishes, even if it destroyed him. 

Armitage caught a glimpse of Dameron as he walked down the thoroughfare, and quickened his steps before the man could see him, tension crawling up his back. By the end of that morning’s strategy meeting, Armitage was so irritated that he wanted nothing more than to run until he could no longer feel his legs. 

Or cuddle Poe, but only one of those was actually possible. 

What he most certainly did not want was a heart to heart with Organa, yet that was precisely what he was forced to do as she pulled him aside.

“How are you and Poe doing?” 

Armitage frowned at her question. He’d been expecting something along the lines of his official role in the Resistance. As the only person who actually knew how a Repulsor-class Star Destroyer operated, he would lead the boarding party and flying it off, yet he still hadn’t been assigned a necessary rank. The thought that Organa might inquire about his relationship hadn’t even occurred to him, for she hadn’t even mentioned it since his first day on the base.

“It’s alright,” he said, hands held loosely at his back. “Except for this unpleasantness with his father.”

“Poe told me. I don’t see how he would have reacted otherwise, considering. I don’t know him, but it seems that Poe got his stubbornness from him.”

Wonderful. 

“In other words, I shouldn’t hold my breath for a kind word for the next year, at least. Or ever. Honestly, though, I don’t care if he likes me or not.”

He stopped at Organa’s raised brow, breathing harshly through his nose.

“Fine,” he admitted, gritting his teeth. “I would much rather he didn’t despise me. He is very important to Poe, and I don’t like seeing Poe so miserable.”

“I don’t, either,” Organa said. “I told Poe I can talk to him, if that will do any good. He’s considering it.”

“You would vouch for me?”

“I would tell him what I’ve observed from working with you. That your feelings and intentions are sincere, and that you’re not coercing Poe in any way.”

Armitage narrowed his eyes, appalled.

“Is that what he thinks I’m doing?”

“He considered it a possibility. Poe shut it down. I really shouldn’t give you any more details. You can ask Poe yourself. But he’s not the only one to have thought that. There might still be some who do, for all I know.”

Idiots. Couldn’t they see the truth with their own eyes? No, of course not. That would require intelligence and the capacity for critical thinking, which most people were woefully short on. 

“They’ll grow out of it,” Organa said. “It just takes time. Everything always takes so much time.”

“Yes.” Armitage resisted the urge to rub his forehead. “People are like mules. You can bring them to water, hold them over it until neither of you can stand it anymore, and yet they still won’t drink the damn stuff. Not that I’m comparing Poe’s father to a mule.”

“I would hope not.”

Organa didn’t even bother hiding a smile. 

“It will get sorted eventually,” Armitage said, striving for confidence that he didn’t actually feel.

“I hope so. This won’t help, but we can’t get the Star Destroyer strategy going without clarifying your position here.”

She pulled a metallic badge from her pocket. Armitage stood up even straighter, anxiously peering at the rectangular piece in her hand. A rank. Finally. He would be commanding a large cruiser, so that required at the very least the rank of captain. It would chafe to be shuttled so far down the chain of command, but he’d accepted the stakes when he quit his commission. 

The badge was decorated with blue stripes. That was the naval color.

“I know you’re an army guy,” Organa said, “but since you’re going to be commanding a ship, and we’re going to need you to continue doing so if we can pull this off… We’re not exactly overflowing with officers. And you did receive a thorough naval background at the academy, right?”

“Yes. I can fly a fighter, too, in a pinch, if I have to, although I would prefer some practice runs first, as it has been a while since I was in a TIE.”

“We don’t have any TIEs, but I’m sure that Poe would love to take you out on a run in an X-wing. You should, considering that you’re now an admiral.”

Admiral? Organa handed him the badge. Two slanted lines decorated it, the longest a backward slash, a shorter slash meeting it in the middle, with a dot to the right side. He gaped at her, elated and humbled at once.

“Thank you,” Armitage said, genuinely grateful. “I didn’t expect such a high rank.”

“Really?” Organa held her hand out. “I can switch it out for a lower one.”

Armitage backed away, hiding the badge behind his back.

“Absolutely not. You can’t demote me on such a paltry pretext. It’s unseemly.”

Organa raised her hands in mock surrender, teasing in her eyes.

“Alright. We’ll go through the details later. Right now, I need food. Are you hungry?”

An invitation to lunch?

“Yes.”

He hadn’t had time to feel it, but at the mention of food, his stomach gave a twinge, making its need known.

“Let’s go, then.”

Armitage followed, pinning the badge on his shirt. He couldn’t wait for Poe to see it. He’d have to put on something more official looking later, although dress codes, along with everything else, were pretty lax around here. Perhaps he could special order Resistance uniforms in black or grey. Just like when he’d become general, it was imperative that Armitage impress upon those around him that he was, in fact, their superior officer, and worthy of the rank. Organa seemed to be of the same mind, for she led them to the mess hall, where everyone would be able to see, not only his new position, but the two of them breaking bread together, a further demonstration of Organa’s trust in him. Kes Dameron wasn’t in the room, but with the wagging tongues in a base this small, word was bound to get back to him. If he saw everyone else being civil to Armitage, he could be persuaded to see reason. Or so Armitage desperately hoped. 

````````````````````````````

Neither Poe nor the _Black One_ were to be found in the hangar.

“Poe took it on a run along with Iolo,” Jess told him. “He’s testing the repair work on his X-wing.”

“When did he leave?”

“Uh… Around twenty minutes or so. Um, sir.”

She had spotted his badge, which lied annoyingly half hidden by his jacket, but he couldn’t put it on the leather. He’d removed the jacket during lunch for greater visibility. Perhaps he should take it off again, but then it’d just be hanging on his arm being irritating.

“That’s all right,” he said, enjoying her gaping shock nonetheless. “No need to stand on ceremony all the time. I understand that things are more relaxed here.”

Although he certainly would not be extending the same offer to those who weren’t friends with Poe. He couldn’t care less whether they liked him or not. 

“I just received my post from General Organa,” he said, smiling. “I had been wondering when I would be offered one.”

“We all had, actually,” she said, suddenly awkward about the new dynamic, but she recovered quickly. “We thought it would be an army one, though.”

“Me, too. But there’s a reason for it.”

There was a pause before Jess replied.

“Can I ask what that reason is?”

“You can, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you. You’ll find out soon enough.”

The next day, actually. Now that the plans were set, barring the need for tweaks that always arose, of course, they could finally get everyone ready. 

“While we wait,” Armitage said. “Would you show me the ships we have here and introduce me to whoever I didn’t meet yesterday?”

“Sure.”

Armitage would be meeting with Statura and Ackbar later in the afternoon aboard the _Raddus_ , the only cruiser the Resistance had that was worth a damn, but he might as well begin to acquaint himself with this part of the fleet. His fleet. Well, partly his fleet. Tiny and depressingly outdated, but it was a fleet, and it was his to command. 

Admiral Hux. It held quite a different ring to the familiar General Hux, but he loved it already. And to think that he would have settled to be a mere major. 

```````````````````````

Poe and Iolo returned half an hour later. Armitage barely kept from rushing to the Black One, a smile threatening to burst on his face as he waited impatiently for Poe to open his cockpit. BB-8 spotted him first, beeping excitedly. 

_You have a rank! Poe, look!_

The cockpit opened. Poe looked around, removing his helmet.

“What’s going on?” he said. “Oh, hey.”

He smiled when he saw Armitage, leaning down to inspect Armitage’s badge. Armitage stepped close to the ship so that Poe could get a good look at it. Poe’s eyes soon widened. He gaped at Armitage.

“No. When did this happen?”

“Just now.”

Poe scrambled off the ship, jumping off the last, few steps to the floor. He pulled back Armitage’s jacket, peering at the badge.

“I thought they’d make you commander, or cornel.” Poe grinned, laughing as he pulled Armitage into a hug. Armitage tried not to melt into it. “This is amazing. It’s kinda weird you being a navy guy now, though.” 

Poe leaned in, whispering in his ear. Armitage tried not to enjoy the softness of his breath too much, yet he failed utterly. 

“This is so you can take command of the Star Destroyer, isn’t it?” Poe asked.

“Yes.”

“They could have just have made you captain, though.”

“My thought exactly, but I’m certainly not complaining.”

“Hell no. Yeah, they knew you’d be insufferable otherwise. You’d have been moaning dramatically about how miserable it is to follow all these people’s orders. I can see you with a drink in your hand, sighing.” Poe adopted a simpering, melodramatic tone. “I used to be general, you know.”

Armitage stepped back, shoving him lightly. Poe laughed.

“I would do no such thing,” Armitage said, refusing to surrender to that infections smile.

“You would have and you know it. We need to celebrate. But there’s… Shit, we can’t go anywhere, and there’s nothing to do here. I’ll think of something.”

“There’s no need. Honestly, I’m celebrating simply by attending to duties again. I’m flying to the _Raddus_ in a bit to meet with the other admirals and to formally familiarize myself with my new role. And Jess has been introducing me and showing me the X-wings. I admit, I’m excited. Oh, and since I’ve never flown one of these, and…” He lowered his voice for a moment. “It has been a while since the last time I flew any starfighter, could you take me flying tomorrow? I doubt I’ll have any time today.”

“Of course. You don’t even need to ask, sir.”

Teasing permeated that last word, but Poe was correct. Their relationship, already confusingly complicated, was now even more tangled by this new posting. They’d need to find a balance between friendship and professionalism. If this were the First Order, this entire conversation, out here in the hangar with people watching while pretending not to, would be out of line. Utterly unprofessional. Thank God that the Resistance was so unprofessional to begin with. To think that he’d once sneered at their appallingly low standards. 

“You want to hop in?” Poe said, nodding at the _Black One_. “Get a look at the inside for now?”

“I would love to.”

Armitage climbed inside. The basic controls and gauges were the same in every starfighter, and he’d studied schematics of the T-85s that the New Republic Navy flew, as well as the old, Rebellion T-65s. The Resistance could only afford to purchase or borrow T-70s, barely a leg ahead of the Rebellion’s models, but they had proven themselves to be a sharp and deadly thorn in the First Order’s back. The base had a diminutive shipyard which mostly engaged in repair work, yet they also built some starfighters, although at a teeth grindingly slow pace. Armitage’s instinct when they ordered more starfighters yesterday had been to spring for the newest model, but he had to be careful. Operations like this drained funds like a nerf herd decimating a hillside of grass. So they’d opted for more T-70s, instead, along with some A-wings, as well as a mix or new and used parts to make their own. However, Armitage would implement plenty of upgrades. He already had ideas for how to put even the speed of an SF TIE fighter to shame. 

“Admiral Armitage Hux,” Poe said, standing on the ladder beside him. “Resistance officer.”

Poe’s smile shone with such fondness that Armitage felt its glow inside his chest. Armitage had promised not to beg with his gaze, but how could he deny himself a joyous grin while sitting in Poe’s X-wing, with him watching him with such pride?

“I’ve gotta say,” Poe said, “I like the sound of that better than General Hux. Just cause… You know, associations and such.”

Of course. Associations. General Hux belonged to the First Order. 

Admiral Hux, on the other hand, belonged here, in the Resistance. 

With Poe.


	24. Chapter 24

“My dad has got to be hating this,” Poe said that night in their room as he held Armitage’s badge in his hand. “Having you as his superior officer? Mine, too. He must be livid.” 

“Did you see him today?” Armitage asked, removing his boots.

Poe shook his head.

“Leia offered to talk to him. Maybe that will help.”

“She mentioned it to me. She also had lunch with me in the mess hall, where everyone could see.”

“I heard about that. Word gets around fast, so dad must have heard, too. Although.” Poe gestured with the badge. “This is further proof that we trust you. He’s got to notice that. It might just be more for him to process, but…”

Poe examined the badge again, gaze now bittersweet.

“Time,” Armitage said, “like you said.”

Poe nodded.

“Yeah. He’ll come around.”

The certainty in Poe’s voice didn’t reach his eyes. It pained Armitage to see it. 

“About my being your superior officer,” Armitage said, steering the conversation away from Poe’s father. “I understand that there are no rules about fraternization between the ranks in the Resistance.”

“Yeah, one of the perks of being in a volunteer army. No one cares what you’re doing with who, as long as it doesn’t affect a mission. It shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll just play it by ear. You saw how casual we are on a regular basis. Everyone understands we have a… you know.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah. But when it comes to it, I’ll follow your orders. I won’t ask for special favors or anything like that.”

“No arguing?”

Poe shook his head.

“Are you sure? Because you have a history of fighting with your superiors and ignoring orders when it pleases you.”

“Okay, that was one time,” Poe said, raising a finger. “And, technically, it was your fault.”

“I made you fight with a major and hijack a naval X-wing?”

“By corrupting high command into ignoring the First Order? Yes. And I didn’t hijack it, I borrowed it.”

“I’ll concede the first point. But Organa has mentioned some pushback from you, as well, and I also saw some in your naval record, so there is an established pattern.” Armitage stood up, placing his hands behind his back. “Should I be concerned, commander?”

Armitage adopted a stern tone, as if he were questioning any other subordinate who had displeased him. Poe narrowed his eyes, regarding him suspiciously.

“You’re playing dirty,” he said.

“I’m asking a simple question, that’s all.”

Poe stepped forward, getting into Armitage’s space.

“Like hell you are. Don’t play innocent with me.”

Armitage considered continuing the game, but stopped himself, realizing that he was flirting again. He’d promised Poe space, and yet here he was, begging for his attention once more, aching for the desire in Poe’s face. 

Armitage took a step back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, dropping his hands to his sides. “I didn’t mean to go into that direction.”

Poe blinked, looking away, composure shattered for a second.

“No, I… I followed you there. It’s fine.”

“I really did only mean to establish how we’re going to comport ourselves around each other in public.”

“I know. I get it. Look, I’m not great at keeping my mouth shut when I think something’s wrong, but I’m not going to ask for any favoritism. And those arguments you referred to were behind closed doors, not in front of everyone. So no need to worry that I’ll make you look bad.”

“I’m not worried about that. I’m satisfied that we can make this work.”

“Okay.” 

Poe crossed his arms. They stood in an uncomfortable silence.

“This makes my idea a bit awkward,” Poe said just when Armitage had decided to hide away in the shower. “But we did agree to embrace the awkward.”

“What idea?”

“How we can celebrate. It’s not much, and it was always a little romantic, but… You didn’t finish the novel, did you? The one we were reading together?”

Armitage’s discomfort vanished.

“No. You want to read it now?”

“Would you like me to?”

Armitage nodded, trying not to let his smile become too joyously appreciative. 

“I would, yes. Although, we may have to go back a chapter. I’m fuzzy on where we left it.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Poe grabbed his datapad and sat down at the table, tapping on the screen. Armitage sat on his own bed, propping up his pillow against the wall to lean against it, legs stretched out before him. It was barely comfortable, but he had no desire to lie down. A sudden sting of nostalgia for his blue sofa ripped through him, accompanied by a desire for his ample bed, his luxurious dining table, his wide viewport showing him the stars every time he wished to gaze upon them and relax. Armitage craned his head to peer through the window, but clouds filled the sky, robbing him of his view of the stars beyond. He sighed silently, wistful longing flooding him for a moment. 

“Got it,” Poe said, driving it away.

Poe. The reason why Armitage had given up his bed and his sofa and his view of the stars, for he was infinitely greater than any of them. Armitage sat at ease, his dejection evaporating the instant that Poe began to read. Armitage closed his eyes, listening to the rich cadence of Poe’s voice. The soft rhythm of his narration filled him with delight, as well as the way his tone grew sharp and frenetic during the fight sequences. Poe tried to match the character’s intonation as much as possible, a task in which he was engagingly skilled. Though Armitage had been the one to request a refresher, he soon lost track of the words Poe recited, buoyed in the soothing stream of his voice, like a ship flying placidly through the expanse of space. 

``````````````````````

The next morning, they revealed the Star Destroyer scheme to the rest of the Resistance officers, and officially introduced Armitage as admiral. Everyone already knew by that point, but some formalities must be maintained. If anyone in the room felt any skepticism, they kept it to themselves, although a glance at their faces confirmed more resignation and cautious acceptance than anything else. They had only been allowed one day to adjust to the idea, after all. Armitage supposed that he should be glad not to espy any hostility, although they could hardly get away with protestations to his face anymore, not with his admiral badge gleaming on his chest. 

He’d pinned it on his charcoal-grey, gaberwool jacket today. No one had said anything about his use of what was, admittedly, a First Order color scheme. He had suggested to Organa that he might wear a grey version of the Resistance uniform, and she’d told him, “Why not? Have at it.” He’d already sent out his measurements and requested an order from the supplier, and was rather excited about receiving it.

During the meeting, Armitage kept his stance a tad looser than usual, hands still folded behind him, but holding his back and chin less stiffly to not give off an impression of the Imperials that his audience had grown up despising. While he had never particularly cared about whether his subordinates liked him or not, apart from making a point of rewarding good service, in just a couple of weeks, he was about to lead many of them in an assault against his former army. People who would have been relieved and even overjoyed to see him dead only a week ago. Some probably wished it still. The woman from the memorial hadn’t left his memory. 

Besides, leaders who commanded their crew’s loyalty through admiration as much as respect where more successful at getting the best out of their crews in the long run. Rae and Organa were proof of that. Of course, fear had also played a major part in his ascent to power, but he had employed it judiciously, aimed at those who dared presume that they could defeat him, not those who would aid him in his path. He wasn’t going to cannibalize his own support base just for the sake of wanton sadism, unlike some other idiots whom he’d crushed in his wake. 

While he wouldn’t be going out of his way to be more likable to people, it wasn’t a terrible idea to make a little effort here and there. Armitage was hardly going to smile at everyone who passed him by or make idle chat like Poe did, but less severity wouldn’t go amiss. Should he go so far as to appear approachable? He didn’t actually know how to do that, though. The smiling and chatting seemed to be key, so never mind that. Simply not being forbidding would have to do. That was manageable. He hadn’t sneered at anyone in days, so he was already well on way to adapting to the Resistance’s kinder work culture. 

When it was his turn to speak, he outlined his boarding plan in a confident, calm voice, commanding attention without being domineering about it. He kept his expression as focused and agreeable as he could, which was so much harder than he’d anticipated. He barely managed to stop himself from slipping back to his cold mask several times, as he’d never borne any other while giving orders. This friendliness felt wrong, like he was at some bureaucrat’s garden party instead of a briefing room. But if he looked like the remorseless villain these people expected him to be, they’d never give him a chance, no matter how much Poe pleaded on his behalf. Armitage needed that chance. It was the only way that this would work, and failure was not an option.

“How was the briefing?” Armitage asked Poe later as they walked together to the hangar.

“Great. You didn’t look nervous, if you’re wondering.”

“I didn’t look odd?”

“Odd how?”

“Just… I was trying not to look like the expectation of a First Order officer.”

“Like you’re about to shoot anyone who looks at you funny?”

Armitage chided him with a sharp look. A smile quirked on Poe’s mouth.

“Sorry,” he said.

“I never did that.”

“I never thought you had, but thanks for the confirmation. You looked fine. Serious, like everyone else. Very focused.”

“Not approachable?”

“Do you want to look approachable?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then don’t worry about it. No offense, but I’m not sure what approachable on you would look like.”

“None taken. I’ll leave the approachability to you. I’m simply trying not to appear cold. I hear that people outside the First Order don’t go for that sort of thing.”

“Well, there’s a couple of officers I worked under in the Republic navy who would say otherwise, but I hated their guts. So good call.”

`````````````````````````

That evening, Armitage was the first to return to their room. He showered, brushed his teeth, then reclined in bed enjoying a book. Once more, he regretted the loss of his sofa, but banished the useless emotion from his mind. The book was a history of the making of the New Republic, but he was less interested in the politics than he was in the segment on the colony in the rebel base on Yavin 4. Poe’s parents were mentioned as some of the original settlers, but that was all. Nothing terribly interesting happened. They farmed. They studied the ruins. They formed a ship racing league for the pilots to entertain themselves. The league started when Poe was ten, so he must have joined up at some point. Armitage would ask Poe when he returned.

Yet two hours later, Poe had still not arrived. What could be holding him up? It was already 9:20, and Poe hadn’t mentioned having to do anything that would keep him out late. Armitage could call him, but under what pretext? That he was worried? They were on a small base surrounded by impenetrable jungle. Poe was fine. He must be held up with ship repairs or speaking to someone.

Armitage jumped upright on the bed. Could he… Organa said that she would speak to Kes Dameron today. Had Dameron sought out his son afterward to talk? A proper talk this time, and not another row? What else could make Poe lose such track of time? 

Armitage paced, around the room, then forced his feet to a halt. 

Then resumed his pacing, as he couldn’t keep his legs still. God, did he miss his chambers in the _Finalizer_. He’d had plenty of space to stretch his legs in frantic meandering, unlike here, where he only had ten feet to work with. 

Armitage sat back down and tried to read, but he couldn’t concentrate on the words. After he’d skimmed over the same sentence for the fifth time, he gave up and put on a holovid, but barely watched for a minute before he began pacing again. 

For how long had Poe and his father been speaking by now? Was a long conversation a good sign? A terrible one? If neither party stormed out screaming within the first, few minutes, then it wasn’t likely to happen afterward, was it? Oh, what the hell did he know? The only heart to hearts he’d ever had had been with Rae and Poe. Even when Rae had been disappointed with him for killing his father, she hadn’t yelled, and Poe had been yelling from the start when he dumped him. 

After suffering the piercing pain of banging his toe on the bed leg because of his distraction, Armitage put on his boots and stormed off down the corridor. He scowled at the closed doors around him, craving to know which one was Dameron’s. Were they in his bunk, or were they speaking somewhere else? Either way, it wasn’t like Armitage could knock on the door and ask to be included in the conversation. 

He took the stairs to the ground floor and strode down the airstrip, beating at the bugs assaulting his face as he walked. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he returned inside, trudging up the stairs, no calmer than when he left. 

The light was on when he returned to the room.

“Hey,” Poe called from the refresher. 

He had a toothbrush stuck in his mouth.

“Hey,” Armitage replied, rushing toward him, stomach wound into dizzy knots. “You were late getting back, so I went on a walk. Not that I’m expecting your presence at a certain hour. I was merely wondering if you were talking to… Granted, I don’t know if you getting back late is normal or not. I’ve only been here a few days. But—”

Poe held up his left hand, spitting out the toothpaste in his mouth.

“Give me a second,” he said, his lips flecked with white spittle.

Armitage crossed his arms, tapping his fingers impatiently as Poe rinsed his mouth.

“Sorry,” Poe said when he finally came up for air. 

He dried his hands on the towel, grinning. Armitage straightened his back, dropping his arms, hope flaring inside him.

“What does that smile mean?” he asked.

“I was with dad. Was that what you were wondering? Who I was talking to?”

“Yes. What did he say? Did it go better this time? The look on your face seems to indicate that.”

“It did, yes. So much better.” Poe raised his hands, fingers spread. “He’s still not completely happy. I don’t think that’s going to happen for a while, if ever. But Leia talked to him. He listened. And apparently, BB-8 talked to him, too. Well, dad doesn’t understand binary, but BB-8 showed him a recording of us when you showed me your admiral badge.”

“BB-8 recorded us? Are they always doing that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I have to talk to them, tell them to cut it out. There was no audio. Maybe it was just this one time. But still. Anyway, it seems that the point was so that dad could see how easy we were with each other. Smiling. You happy at becoming a Resistance admiral.”

And the love Armitage could never seem to withhold from his face. 

_Well played, BB-8._ So the droid had truly accepted him, after all.

“We talked for ages,” Poe continued. “About everything. Our relationship. The breakup. Your messages. Not what was in then, just that you made them, and that I kept listening. He’s going to think about it, and…” Poe shrugged, looking hopeful. “We’ll see. He didn’t yell this time. This is good. Really good.”

Poe smiled with optimistic exhilaration. Armitage shared in his happy relief, rejoicing at not having devastated the most important relationship in Poe’s life. 

“I’m so very glad to hear that,” he said. “I was worried this would drag on. Really, while I would adore it if your father liked me, I don’t need it. I can manage without his approval, but seeing him angry at you because of me… I couldn’t bear it.”

Poe’s smile grew tender. He touched Armitage’s left arm, the caring pressure as necessary as the breath in Armitage’s lungs.

“I appreciate that. I never wanted you to feel bad about it.”

“How could I not?”

Poe nodded, still smiling.

``````````````````````````

In the morning, someone knocked on the door. That someone turned out to Poe’s father, as Armitage discovered when he opened the door and found him standing there, hands on his hips, regarding Armitage with the weary expression of someone who knew they had been defeated, and now it was time to smile and make nice. Armitage stood awkwardly at the threshold, painfully aware that his freshly washed hair was sticking up and that he wore only pants and a t-shirt. 

“Sergeant Dameron,” Armitage said, tilting his head deferentially.

Poe ran out of the refresher, left side of his face covered in shaving cream, razor still in his hand.

“Dad,” he said, looking wildly between him and Armitage. 

“Good morning,” Dameron said. His tone didn’t actually imply a good morning, but at least it was polite. “I understand that you’re an admiral now,” he said to Armitage.

“Yes, but please ignore that and speak freely,” Armitage said. 

“Alright. As Poe probably told you,” he glanced at Poe, “we spoke last night. Look, I’m still not completely on board with this. It’s hard to look at you and not remember what you’ve done. But there’s also what you’re doing now. Poe trusts you, as does General Organa and the other admirals. Even Poe’s overprotective droid does. I trust my son, so… I’ll trust you.”

Armitage’s breath froze in his chest.

“Thank you,” he said, immensely grateful. “I won’t violate that trust, I swear it.”

“See that you don’t.” 

“Thanks, dad,” Poe said, hugging his father, careful not to get cream on him.

Dameron smiled tightly at the gesture, still quietly studying Armitage. 

```````````````````````````

The two Damerons ate breakfast together. Armitage excused himself on the pretext of catching up on some work on his datapad. While he did need to look over some supply shipments, he feared that breaking bread with Dameron right after such a tenuous reconciliation might be too much for the elder Dameron. Best let Poe have this moment with his father free of the tension that Armitage’s presence would bring. So he sat at a table across the mess hall, glancing over at them every so often, which almost got him in trouble when Dameron caught him watching. Armitage quickly looked at his datapad, not daring to raise his eyes for a very, long while. 

Poe and his father looked peaceful. There was no indication of unease or a brewing argument that Armitage could see. Armitage breathed more easily, finally allowing himself to relax. Poe and his father were alright. That really was all that mattered.


	25. Chapter 25

Armitage hadn’t had time to fly in a starfighter the day before, but he squeezed in an hour this afternoon, as well as for the rest of the week. He couldn’t order X-wings into battle without knowing their precise capabilities, and there was no better instructor than hands-on experience. The same went for the A-wings, but, as the Resistance had more X-wings (and they were Poe’s preferred fighter), he’d learn those first. He was already familiar with their schematics and features, both from his own reading and Poe’s explanations. No worthy strategist went into battle without studying everything they could about their enemy and the equipment they used, but researching ships from a distance only gave you an occluded view. He needed to actually be in the cockpit to get a proper sense for what he was dealing with. 

Therefore, he had submitted himself to wearing the most appalling outfit that he’d ever suffered to touch his skin. Armitage may not have an officer’s uniform, but he did now possess his very own bright, orange flight suit. The color was so heinous that it made Armitage want to set things on fire. It wasn’t so incredibly unappealing on Poe, but on his own body, which flushed far too easily, and with his own, ginger hair, he looked like a walking carrot. 

The Resistance truly had no sense of style. Bland, tan officer’s uniforms. Carrot-orange flight suits. Had they been so desperate for funds that they’d been forced to buy their clothes in bulk from a clearance warehouse? If anyone took a picture of him wearing this thing, he would rip the datapad from their hands, he didn’t care how much it tarnished the image he was carefully cultivating. 

“Sorry we don’t have any black ones,” Poe said as he helped fasten Armitage’s vest. 

Poe didn’t look remotely sorry. In fact, he looked to be having the time of his life, grinning cheerfully since he’d handed Armitage the suit. Armitage opened his mouth to retort, then shut it when Poe patted the Resistance symbol on the vest, gaze warm with pride. 

Poe wasn’t amused by Armitage’s discomfort. He was thrilled to see Armitage in Resistance gear. He’d been practically bouncing when he brought the flight suit, lighter and more carefree than Armitage had seen him since he received his promotion to commander. Armitage would bet that Poe hadn’t stopped smiling since his father showed up at their room that morning. So Armitage swallowed his sartorial protestations and endured the unflattering look for Poe’s sake. 

Poe had requested Iolo’s X-wing for this exercise, which Iolo didn’t look particularly pleased about, but this fighter was hardly his personal possession. Besides, as admiral, Armitage could simply take any ship he wanted, but the diplomatic way worked better with this group, so he’d delegated the ship choice to their beloved commander. For the sake of not ruffling feathers unnecessarily, Armitage had jokingly suggested that he take the _Black One_ , instead. Besides, it was the finest X-wing in the fleet. As an admiral, shouldn’t Armitage be flying the best?

Poe had narrowed his eyes at him, arms crossed firmly over his chest.

“I know you’re joking,” he’d said. “But just in case, not gonna happen.”

“You don’t trust me with your ship?”

“On your first run? Hell no. I just got her fixed.”

The conversation had devolved into protestations of Armitage’s clean, flying record, Poe’s assurance that he didn’t actually think that Armitage was going to crash, and Armitage demanding that he prove it by getting him the second best ship. 

And so he now sat in the cockpit of a silver and white X-wing, while its usual pilot stood to the side, pretending that he was okay with the former First Order general who had never flown an X-wing before taking off in it. The former general was now his admiral, so Iolo would just have to put up with it. Armitage bore the man no animosity (Iolo had been civil to him), but it wasn’t like Armitage was going to crash the ship. He did know how to fly, it was simply the specifics of this particular make that he wanted to get a grasp for. Yet everyone was acting like it was his first time in a starfighter.

 _Need any help?_ K4 beeped behind him.

Even the droids. 

“Just start her up, thank you.”

Poe had already explained all the differences between X-wing and TIE controls yesterday, so he shouldn’t have a problem. And, if one arose, (not that it would), K4 could take care of it. The necessity of an astromech copilot might not be the most economical idea, but it was useful. 

“You set to go?” Poe asked a minute later through the comms.

“Ready.”

“I’ll head out first.”

Engaging his thrusters, Poe lifted off and flew out of the hangar. Armitage followed him, heading out into the cloudy sky over the dense jungle, which soon blanketed everything in sight. The ship shook, buffeted by the wind. Armitage scowled. He’d never enjoyed atmospheric turbulence, and its effects were much sharper in a tiny ship like this. He couldn’t wait to get out into space where the ride would be smooth and peaceful. 

“How’s it feel?” Poe asked. He had settled beside him after Armitage caught up. “Not quite the same as a TIE, huh?”

Not at all. The X-wing’s long nose bothered him, although the ship made up for that annoying feature by allowing full visibility at the sides. With TIEs, you had to depend on side cams. 

“Not quite, no,” he replied. “It feels different. And the long nose will take some getting used to.”

Poe banked, rose, and descended at frequent intervals, taking them in a meandering journey so Armitage could get a feel for the ship’s maneuverability.

“Yeah, I knew you wouldn’t like the nose. Flying that TIE, I felt like all of space was at my feet, but the moment I moved my head, I was a looking at a wall. I like to be able to see everything with my own eyes.”

“I see your point.”

Poe tilted his ship to the left, flying on his side. Armitage did the same. The change of axis disoriented him for a moment. It really had been too long since he’d performed such maneuvers. He soon recovered, focusing on the sky to his right instead of the mass of green teetering at his left, but this was hardly a pleasant sensation. Poe hung above him, likely enjoying every second. When he showed no signs of stopping, Armitage turned horizontally once more and flew below him. He looked up, catching Poe’s surprised glance.

“Not a big fan of flying on your side, huh?” Poe said. 

“Not really.”

Armitage moved to Poe’s left, giving him space to tilt back properly.

“Let’s head out to space,” Armitage said. “This turbulence is driving me mad.”

“Aw, I like it.”

Of course he did.

“You enjoy shaking in your seat?”

“It adds to the fun. I don’t know how to describe it. The pressure. The wind resistance. It just feels good, down in my bones.”

“I’m not surprised. But I enjoy a smooth glide. So, you’ve had your fun. I know what an X-wing feels like in atmosphere now. Can we head out, please?”

Poe chuckled. Armitage did not imagine the fondness in his voice.

“Sure we can. One smooth glide coming up.”

Poe led them up away from the planet’s surface. The shaking lessened, then worsened as they breached the atmospheric layers. Then they were free, the blue sky shrinking away as they rose into the deep dark of space, enveloped by the black. D’Qar’s asteroid belt hovered to their right, a jagged wall of rocks stretching out to the stars, shining beacons surrounding them as far as he could see. Armitage’s breath caught in his throat, draining out of him in a grateful exhale as he admired the view, smiling at every shining pinprick and globe, even as he shielded his eyes from D’Qar’s yellow sun, a two inch wide nugget in the distance. His hand relaxed on the control yoke, the ship finally fluid and steady around him. He and Poe flew in a graceful arc around D’Qar, every banking turn a joy of motion rather than a rattling annoyance. Seven days had passed since he had last been in space. Too long. Much too long.

“This is so much better” he said, his relief suffusing his voice.

Not even the ozone smell of the recycled air in the cockpit bothered him anymore. All he cared about were the stars around him, the planets within reach, the purple cascade of a nebula alight like a streak of paint across the black. 

“You missed space, didn’t you?” Poe asked.

“Yes. I haven’t been away from it for long since I left Arkanis. I’m not accustomed to looking out my window and not seeing this. Of course, I can see the stars at night, and I do enjoy the sight of the sky. I miss that as well if I haven’t been planetside for too long. But space has been home since I was five.”

“I get that. You should have told me. We could have headed out here first thing.”

“That’s alright. I’d rather do the relaxing thing last and not first. I’m sorry, but I really do like the lack of turbulence so much better. Although, you do prefer the atmosphere, so we don’t have to do things the way I wish.”

“I love both. Don’t worry about me. I’m good either way. And hey, this is hardly the biggest difference between us, is it?”

Armitage snorted softly to himself.

“If it were, our lives would be so much less complicated.”

“Oh, hell yeah. But screw that. We’re on the same side now. Look at you. Flying an X-wing. Resistance logo on your chest. Admiral rank badge, no less. My dad finally approves for you.”

“Approve might be too strong a word.”

“He’s willing to give you a chance. That’s huge.”

“Yes. I’m amazed and grateful. It’s been a good day.”

“Yeah. A good week, despite all the crappy things.”

“We’re alive, your dad doesn’t hate my guts, and I’m wearing an orange flight suit.”

“I knew you hated the orange.”

“It doesn’t suit me at all. I feel like a giant carrot.”

Poe laughed.

“Maybe we can grab you a black flight suit while we’re at the First Order shipyard.”

“They may have stocked some about the Star Destroyer already.”

“Perfect. There you go. Maybe they’ll have some TIEs, too. No need to fly this big nosed thing.”

“No, I’m… I’m getting used to the nose.”

“Really? You like the nose now?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. It’s simply not as bothersome.”

Poe broke off to the left, then flipped over his ship, coasting above Armitage upside down so that their cockpits were parallel to each other. Oh, for God’s sake.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you like the nose,” Poe said.

Armitage contemplated his teasing face.

“All the blood is going to your head, you know.”

“So hurry up and tell me.”

_I like your nose._

“Fine. I like the nose. X-wings are the most gorgeous piece of machinery I have ever been privileged to witness. Now would you please straighten out before you get dizzy?”

Chuckling, Poe swooped back into his former position. They settled into a serene silence, the only sound the thrum of the engines, so calming compared to the shriek of a TIE fighter. Poe led him on some gentle turns, but nothing fancy. Mostly, they simply flew, observing the shimmering stars, the only horizon the blue crest of the planet down below.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” Poe said. 

Armitage couldn’t tell whether Poe was breathless or if the airy tone was simply an idiosyncrasy of the comms frequency. He turned to Poe, who sensed his regard, and turned as well. Armitage smiled, vibrant and jubilant emotions brimming inside him.

“Me, too.”


	26. Chapter 26

_Two weeks later_

Armitage awoke with a start. He clenched his teeth, clamping down on the groan screaming in his throat. 

Ren again. Goddamn, fucking Ren. Would that asshole ever leave him be? It had been three weeks since Starkiller Base. Three fucking weeks. Surely, his mind should understand by now that he wasn’t in imminent danger of being skewered by that melodramatic savage. Yet the nightmares continued, as did the flinches and the sudden loss of breath whenever he heard something that even mildly resembled a lightsaber, or he bumped his right arm, summoning phantom pain that left him weak and trembling. Poe had once grabbed his right shoulder from behind, and Armitage had gasped and reached at his hip for a blaster that luckily wasn’t there. He had one now, but he never kept it on him, not after Poe had to steer him back to reality like a frightened animal. 

A whimper stung the air. Armitage squeezed his mouth shut before realizing that the utterance wasn’t his. He rose up on his elbows, squinting at Poe’s huddled form on the other bed. Poe’s breath was quick and shallow. He mumbled, his voice incoherent. Was it a trick of the shadow, or were his limbs shaking?

Armitage rushed out of bed to crouch beside him, touching Poe’s trembling shoulder, his own discontent fading at the sight of Poe’s distress. It had become routine for Poe to wake up Armitage from his nightmares, yet rarely had Armitage needed to return the favor, for Poe’s sleep was far steadier than his own. Poe cried out, finally returning to consciousness, turning over on his back, alarmed and frightened. He grabbed Armitage’s wrist in a vice, yanking it off halfway before Armitage spoke, heart aching.

“It’s me. It’s alright. You’re safe. It’s just me.”

The light was too dim for him to see Poe’s eyes, but he could feel his desperate gaze on his skin. Poe shuddered, groaning as he took Armitage’s hand in both of his.

“Armitage.”

His voice was as frail as a torn filament. 

“You’re alright.”

Armitage stroked Poe’s hair, gently massaging his scalp. He never would have done this otherwise, keeping firm to his promise to give Poe space, but the touch always soothed Poe faster in these agonized moments.

“Armitage,” Poe said again. His voice was slower this time, tongue wrapping carefully around every syllable, as if the very feel Armitage’s name provided comfort. “Will you do me a favor?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Will you hold me? Please? Spoon me for a bit.”

Armitage’s fingers paused on the crown od Poe’s head. He tried to make out Poe’s facial expression, but all he could perceive were the angles of his nose and jaw and the faintest glimmer of an eye. 

“Of course I will,” he said, his breath tight and sore in his throat.

Letting go of Armitage’s hand, Poe turned over on his left side, facing the wall. He scooched forward on the mattress as far as he could and pulled down the blanket, leaving Armitage room behind him. Armitage slipped into the bed. The instant he made contact with Poe’s body, his eyes shuddered closed and he bit down on an overwhelmed gasp. They shared the pillow, Poe’s curls tickling his nose, his back swelling against Armitage’s chest with every shallow breath. As soon as Armitage wrapped his right arm around Poe’s waist, Poe grabbed his hand and held him fast, his grip almost painful, but Armitage didn’t say a word of complaint, as if he possibly wanted to. Poe’s breaths continued coming too fast, too jagged. He didn’t sob, but Armitage could hear tears in his shallow breathing, and it tore him up inside.

“Whatever you dreamed,” Armitage said, rubbing the back of Poe’s head with his free hand. “It’s not real. It has no hold over you.”

Poe gasped a broken laugh.

“That’s my line to you.”

Poe had murmured it to him more than once as he held Armitage’s hand in the dark.

“It’s true. You wouldn’t lie to me.”

Yet they had never gotten into bed with each other like this. Armitage hadn’t sobbed into Poe’s lap again. 

“You wouldn’t lie to me, either,” Poe said.

Never again. 

“You’re safe with me. You’re always safe with me.”

Poe didn’t reply, the only sound the agony of his shallow breaths. Armitage closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of Poe’s sweat on his nape, yet he couldn’t enjoy their closeness, not with Poe suffering. 

“You were in my dream,” Poe said.

Armitage stiffened, bracing himself.

“Which side was I on?” he asked, dreading the answer. 

“Both. The images are fading now, but… You were on Starkiller, destroying Yavin 4. I couldn’t see you so far away, but I knew you were there. But then you were beside me in the air, taking down TIEs. Then you were in a TIE, but still taking them down, I think. But we couldn’t destroy the base this time. It…” Poe sucked in a breath. “It killed my home. I could see you on the base, laughing.”

Armitage lied perfectly still, afraid to move or speak. Yet Poe continued to hold his hand as if losing it would set him adrift in a primordial sea. 

“That’s all I remember,” Poe said. “Fuck. Our minds are out worst enemies, aren’t they?”

Armitage dared to move his head just a little bit forward, just enough to nudge Poe’s own.

“They are.”

 _You know I would never do that_ , he thought, but Poe had already grown annoyed with him once before for protesting his commitment to the Resistance too much after a similar nightmare a week ago.

“Your actions speak for themselves,” Poe had said, his tone sharp with exhaustion. “You don’t need to keep saying stuff like that. I trust you, okay?”

So Armitage kept quiet. Poe began rubbing small circles into Armitage’s palm. Armitage swallowed a groan, shutting his eyes against the pillow.

“Poe, what are you doing? We don’t do things like this anymore—”

“I want you.”

Armitage froze.

“I’m sorry,” Poe continued, speaking in a rush. “I should have said it already. I keep telling myself to wait, to give it more time, to make sure that I’m not making a mistake, but we’re fighting a war. And I know what I want, and it’s you.”

Poe turned over on the bed, facing him. Armitage stared at the shadows of Poe’s face, barely daring to breathe or hope or think.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “You want to be with me? You have no more doubts?”

“No doubts. I mean…” Armitage bit back a groan. “No, no, wait. Listen to me.” Poe grabbed Armitage’s face and stroked it, his fingers so soft. So soft. “Not doubts about you. Or about how I feel about you. Or about wanting to be with you. Just the normal stuff. I shouldn’t have said that. I wouldn’t have if I weren’t so tired.”

“What normal stuff?”

“You know, the stuff everyone worries about in a relationship.”

“How am I supposed to know what that means? I’ve never been in a relationship before you.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry. It’s nothing. Those words slipped out. I want you, okay?” Poe pressed his forehead to Armitage’s, breathing softly, tone forlorn as he murmured again, “I want you.”

Armitage let his eyes close, breathing him in, relief and joy sobbing in his chest as he clung to Poe’s back, but a skittish coldness spread through him at Poe’s equivocal answer. Hadn’t he promised to wait until he was certain? What worries did he speak of, and why wouldn’t he tell him? Was it truly something so trivial that it didn’t merit mentioning, or was it worse?

“Poe?”

“Mmm?”

Poe kissed Armitage’s cheek. Armitage practically moaned, fingers curling on Poe’s back with the need to rain kisses down his neck, but he had to know.

“Just answer me one question. You’re not wondering whether you’ll still want to be with me in the future, are you?”

Poe pulled back. Armitage screamed at himself, but he needed an answer. 

“What?” Poe asked, sounding confused.

Was that a good sign? Was it bad?

“I know the future is always uncertain, and we might be dead in a week, but when you picture yourself ten years in the future, am I by your side?”

Why was Poe taking so long to respond?

“I don’t know.”

A chill ripped through Armitage, Poe’s words cutting him to the bone. Armitage was suddenly immensely glad for the darkness hiding his face from Poe. Why had he asked anything at all? Why hadn’t he just accepted Poe’s desire gratefully? Everything he wanted was right here in his arms. Why did he have to fuck it up by opening his mouth? But he had been waiting three weeks for certainty, one way or the other. Even if Poe broke his heart, Armitage would know, and he could plan and make his life without him, if need be. Armitage had already given up everything. He had been sure, absolutely sure. Poe sounded like he still didn’t know what he wanted. He may be touching Armitage’s face and angling his body toward him, the one begging to be touched now, but what did that mean? Together until he fell out of love or until Armitage showed his darkness again? It would occur sooner or later. Armitage couldn’t so fully alter who he was.

“You don’t know if you want to be with me,” Armitage said, feeling sick to his stomach.

“I do right now.”

“Right now. Like I wanted to be with you right now those five weeks, avoiding a future I didn’t see with you because it couldn’t work.”

“It’s not the same. I’m not planning on breaking up with you later.”

“But you think you might?”

“That’s always a possibility. You just said that the future’s uncertain. Do you want to make a lifetime commitment right now? I thought… We’d get back together and see where things go. That’s what we’ve always been doing, isn’t it?”

Armitage was an idiot. When did he turn into such a miserable sap? How pathetic.

“Armitage? Say something, please.” 

Poe touched his face, but Armitage pulled away, flopping onto his back. 

“I’m turning the light on,” Poe said, climbing over him out of bed.

Armitage opened his mouth to argue, then shut it. A headache pulsed in his skull, berating him for being a fool.

“I’m turning it on now,” Poe said. “Shield your eyes.”

Armitage covered his eyes with a hand, which soon shone red from the light filtering through it. He raised it slowly, squinting at the brightness. Dejection shot through him when he saw Poe. Poe looked like he’d been pulled out of a wreckage. His hair was sticking up, his eyes bloodshot, his nose red and sniffy, and exasperated misery gleamed in his eyes. His body slumped forward like he was at the point of collapse, yet his right hand tapped at the wall with a frenetic energy that screamed of an urge to run. Wretchedness pierced through Armitage. He was such a asshole.

“Please,” he said, sitting up on the bed, the blanket slipping off his legs. “I shouldn’t have argued. I want you back. I’m perfectly happy with whatever relationship you want between us. I don’t need a commitment.”

Poe scowled at him. He shook his head, processing what Armitage said.

“I am committing to you,” Poe said, crouching in front of him and taking Armitage’s hands. “It’s just not the forever kind. Did you think… When I said that I wanted to wait until I was sure, did you think I meant marriage? We never talked about that.”

Armitage wanted to squeeze Poe’s hands and bring them up to his lips. Kiss every digit.

“I know. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I did presume that we wouldn’t simply pick up where we left off. We’re so far away from that place. And I did make a lifetime commitment when I left the First Order.”

Poe’s eyes sharpened.

“You can’t put that on me. I may have pushed you, but you can’t make me feel obligated like that. It’s not fair.”

“I know it’s not. That’s not what I’m saying. I never wish for you to feel obligated to me. I’m merely trying to explain my idiotic reaction.”

Pulling his left hand from Poe’s, he grasped the back of his neck and tugged him forward, pressing his forehead to his, closing his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Please ignore me. I just want you. Whatever you want to give me. That’s all that matters to me.”

Poe grabbed Armitage’s shoulders.

“That’s obviously not true.”

“I’m happy. Right you, with you, like this. You make me so happy.”

Poe released a long, weary sigh.

“What about earlier?” he asked, pulling back a bit to peer into Armitage’s face. “Today? Were you happy, then?”

Armitage looked away. Happy? Was that the word he would choose? The strategy meeting had gone well. The Republic military had quit complaining about the Senate upholding the Resistance’s independence after the latest court-martial scandal. The new equipment had arrived and was ready to go. The ships were all in fine, working order. They were already building more. Everything was prepared for the attack on the shipyard two days from now, and the excitement of that imminent assault sang in his bones.

“I was satisfied. Excited. I would have described myself as happy, if my emotional state didn’t pale in comparison to how I feel now.”

“So, you really are happy, right now? Because, darling, you don’t look good at all. And I feel like it’s my fault, but I also feel like it’s yours, and I’m not sure who to reprimand right now.”

“Me.” Armitage brushed his hand through Poe’s hair, delighting in those gorgeous curls. He’d rather have this doubting affection than nothing at all. “Reprimand me. It’s my fault for questioning you. I should have let it go.”

Poe sighed, leaning into Armitage’s touch.

“No. It’s both our faults. I should have been clearer earlier. But I never thought… You want to marry me? That’s what I’m taking away from this.”

Armitage dropped his head, groaning internally.

“Poe, I’m not pressuring you to do anything.”

“The last weeks have made that clear. But this is already out there, so you might as well answer my question.”

God, next time Armitage was tempted to argue with Poe, he was cutting out his tongue.

“I didn’t consciously think of it in precisely those terms, but, yes. Since I decided to leave the First Order, I knew I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life. I was sure that you wouldn’t allow it, but I wanted it. That desire hasn’t wavered. Look, I’m not some starry eyed teenager pining for their wedding day. I know reality doesn’t work that way. I never even thought I would want to get married. I suspected I might be forced to for the sake of preserving my legacy, as sullied as my own lineage is. That’s the only reason why I tried having sex in the first place. That didn’t work. I’d made it so far without needing to make that compromise, so I washed my hands of the whole thing. I feel utterly ridiculous springing this on you now.”

“Don’t. Please.” Poe stroked Armitage’s jawline. “It’s sweet. I’m touched, really, and I wish I could give you the answer you want.”

Armitage kissed his forehead.

“You have given me more than I once hoped I’d ever get. I’m just being stupid. Ignore me. Let’s get back into bed.”

Poe studied him for a moment, eyes narrowed.

“I’ll do that, but we’re keeping the light on because we’re not done talking.”

Oh, for—Fine. Poe wanted to continue this torturous line of questioning, then fine. Armitage had no one to blame but himself. He fell onto his back, shifting against the wall. Poe crawled beside him, propping his head up on his elbow. Armitage played with the blanket with his feet, trying, and failing, to distract himself from Poe’s incisive gaze.

“I can’t marry you right now,” Poe said.

Obviously.

“It’s alright if you never do. You might not even find marriage appealing, for all I know.”

Poe huffed a laugh. Armitage frowned at him, startled.

“I’m sorry,” Poe said, raising his right hand in apology. “I’m not making light of this. It’s just that, I was the teenager pining for his wedding day. I mean, I’m not crazy about that phrasing, and more when I was nineteen than when I was fifteen, but yeah.” He tugged his mother’s wedding band out of his shirt, laying it on his shirt. “This? I never told you what I plan to so with this, did I?”

Armitage shook his head.

“I’m going to give it to the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

Hope and pain bloomed simultaneously in Armitage’s chest, strangling him. Poe had just said he couldn’t marry him. Armitage turned away before Poe could see how everything he said cut through him.

“Hey.” 

Poe touched his shoulder, trying to tug Armitage toward him. Armitage closed his eyes and pressed his face to the pillow, refusing to face him. A scream built inside him, shrieking from his bones to every nerve under his skin.

“I didn’t say that to make you sad,” Poe said, apologetic. “Armitage, look at me.”

Scrambling onto his right side, Armitage buried his face in Poe’s chest, wrapping his left arm tightly around his waist. 

“No more talking. Please. I’m tired. It’s the middle of the night. I regret saying anything. I’m sorry I didn’t just hold you. Let’s just please sleep.”

Poe sighed. Armitage felt his lungs expand with the weight of it. Poe rubbed his back, kissing the top of his head.

“I’m sorry. I’ll turn off the light.”

Armitage withdrew his arm so that Poe could stand up, then immediately turned back around and pressed his face into the pillow as far as he could, pulling the blanket up to his chin. He practically gasped in relief as darkness flooded the room. Every muscle in his body hurt from being wound so tight. His father had been right. He truly was pathetic. A needy, sentimental idiot. 

The mattress dipped under Poe’s weight. Armitage held his breath. Poe didn’t move. Seconds ground by. Armitage berated himself again. He’d scared Poe away. 

When a hand touched his waist, he nearly jumped.

“Can I spoon you?” Poe asked. 

Pleaded, more like, his voice as uncertain as if he were flying into an asteroid field. Armitage’s breath drained out of him in an aching wave. Now it was his turn to grab Poe’s hand and pull him close.

“I have been fantasizing about you spooning me for months,” he said. “Get over here.”

Poe shifted forward, pressing alongside him, his chest perfectly aligned with Armitage’s back. They breathed together, torsos moving in unison. Armitage kept his hold on Poe’s hand, trying his damnest to ignore the ring squeezed between his shoulder blades. For as long as Poe let him, he wasn’t letting go. Married. Not married. What the fuck did that matter?

````````````````````````

The blaring of the morning alarm ripped him into consciousness. He groaned into the pillow, eyes refusing to open for the most begrudging seconds. Something moved on his waist. Armitage jerked up, grabbing--- 

Poe’s arm.

“It’s me,” Poe mumbled, squinting up at him. The pillowcase fabric had pressed its folds into his cheek. It looked adorable. Armitage wanted to trace it with his lips.

Armitage suddenly remembered what a jackass he’d made of himself just hours ago. Humiliation burned in his chest down to the tips of his toes, flushing his cheeks. He probably looked like a tomato.

“I’m sorry for this morning,” he said. “Please forget everything I said.”

Poe pet his side.

“I’m the one who’s sorry. Will you look at me now, please? You can’t avoid looking at me forever.”

Breathing slowly through his nose, Armitage turned to face Poe, who smiled softly at him. Poe rubbed Armitage’s arm, fingers trailing gently over his skin. Armitage melted into the touch, slouching on his side, but he couldn’t fully relax. 

“We had an error in communication,” Poe said. “That’s all. It happens in every relationship, as far as I know. Certainly in all the ones I’ve had.”

“This one was entirely my fault. While I wasn’t demanding marriage… I apologize for giving that impression… I did have a certain expectation that I realize now wasn’t the most logical from your perspective. I assumed that your love was equivalent to mine, and, therefore, you’d wish the same level of commitment as I do once you were sure. I thought that’s what sure meant. I shouldn’t have made that mistake.”

He kept his gaze on Poe’s collar as he spoke despite Poe’s entreaty that he look at him. Poe rectified that reluctance, taking Armitage’s face and gently nudging it up to his own. It brimmed with apology and regret.

“I do love you, Armitage. I love you so much that it hurt not to touch you like this these last weeks, but I couldn’t toy with your emotions like that. I had to be sure. And I am sure. Not the way you want, but—”

“Please, you don’t have to explain. I shouldn’t have expected that. I began this relationship on a for now basis, so it’s immensely hypocritical of me to demand otherwise from you.”

“Yeah. You know what? It is. I wasn’t going to bring it up, but thank you for acknowledging that. But I’m not with you just for now. I’m not…” Poe paused, pressing his mouth shut as he collected his thoughts. “I shouldn’t have explained about my mom’s ring. That was my mistake. I had planned to wait until I was ready to offer it. I should have stuck with that. It was a shitty thing to do. Anyway, the point I wanted to make was that I do want marriage. I want till death do us part. I don’t enter into a relationship unless I can see that potentially being where it leads. I want to get there with you.”

 _When?_ Armitage thought, but wasn’t jerk enough to ask. He was so tired of living in this limbo, of not knowing where he stood with Poe. All his life, he had lived according to a plan. Several, in fact. Contingencies were vital for success. Where were they now? Nowhere. He’d shattered them all. Those five weeks with Poe, the three months that followed, had been as terrifying as they’d been intoxicating. He had hoped that the dizziness could finally end. 

Not yet. Once again, his answer was not yet. And he was such an ungrateful shit as to spit it back in Poe’s face. 

Armitage lied on his back, staring blearily at the ceiling. Poe sighed, sounding as weary as him.

“I’m sorry I don’t understand what the difference is,” Armitage said, grabbing Poe’s right hand. “Between you not being sure of me and what you’re saying.”

Poe squeezed his hand and rested his head against Armitage’s.

“Yeah, I’m getting that. I didn’t think this was something that I had to explain. And I don’t know how to do it more clearly than this. You know, I’ve felt bad about keeping you waiting for me to decide. I thought, finally, that could end and we could move on to the next stage. We could be happy. We’d always have stuff to sort through, but this one thing would be done.”

“I hoped for that, too.”

Poe stroked Armitage’s right hand with his thumb.

“You’re still going to be waiting, aren’t you?”

Armitage sucked in a deep breath.

“Yes, I am.”

“Do you at least believe me when I say that I’m sure, even if you don’t understand it the way I actually mean it?”

Armitage stared at their joined hands, filled with resignation.

“I believe you.”

“Do you trust me?”

Armitage shut his eyes. Every cell in his body ached. Why couldn’t he just accept what Poe was telling him? He turned to him, and stroked his cheek.

“I trust you with my life,” Armitage said. Poe smiled, the gesture small and fragile “I trust that you love me. That you don’t want to hurt me. That you want my happiness to live alongside yours for now.” Armitage’s hand fell away. “But I’m sorry. I can’t trust a maybe.”

Poe’s face pinched, hurt. Armitage had just hurt him by demanding too much. But Poe deserved an honest reply.

Sitting up, Armitage yanked his shirt over his head, and burrowed into Poe’s chest like he had earlier, pulling him close. He flinched when the ring touched his cheek, too late to hide it. He had enjoyed touching it before, when it had simply been a memento of Poe’s mother’s memory, but now the withheld promise it represented burned him. He wouldn’t keep waiting. It was unbearable. He didn’t know by what miracle he’d been lucky enough for Poe to want him again, but it wouldn’t stretch far enough for Poe to give him this ring. At some point, he’d realize that he could do better. That he could be with someone who wasn’t a murderer, who didn’t sully his precious conscience. Despite Poe’s elated gratification, Armitage hadn’t suffered any fresh flares of guilt like he had at the memorial (although he refused to go near that rock again). In demanding wedding vows, was Armitage not simply seeking to ensnare Poe before he could realize his mistake and escape? Did his selfishness truly stretch so deep as to ruin Poe like that? It was better this way, with no promises for the future. 

Poe rubbed his back and pressed his face to the top of Armitage’s head, his hand broad and comforting on him. Armitage shut his eyes. This was all he needed. He could live with only this.

“Do you want me to take the ring off?” Poe asked.

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“I’m offering. I can keep it in my pocket for now.”

“You don’t have to say for now. I think it’s best not to exchange more promises.”

Poe sighed into his hair.

“Alright.”

`````````````````````````

They were both nearly late for their respective posts. Neither had time to shower, and Armitage only just managed to shave with Poe’s electronic razor. Breakfast became protein bars and mobile cups of caf and tea as Poe headed to the hangar to oversee some new recruits, while Armitage rushed to the shipyard to meet with Jess. 

Captain Pava had turned out to be a brilliant engineer, and had been at his side through the entire upgrade process, exchanging ideas, troubleshooting, and getting her hands dirty. Armitage had initially balked at the latter. A man of his station sitting beneath a ship, sleeves rolled up and grease stains on his face from wiping off sweat? He would never have suffered such indignity in the First Order. However, like the cramped quarters and the sight of admirals and generals dining in the mess hall made so apparent, the Resistance had much different standards than those he’d been accustomed to. While the rest of high command wasn’t tinkering with engines, he had caught Statura one morning retrofitting the communications system. Armitage’s engineering skills had always been hidden behind schematics or the privacy of his own quarters since he’d graduated from the academy. Here, he could actually indulge his urge to manipulate the individual part on a ship itself, without the burden of a middle man. 

So he acquired some work clothes (grey, thank God), and got to work improving the X-wings’ thrusters himself. Under Jess’s de facto leadership for a time, as she actually had been fixing ships all her life, so he deferred to her expertise. Taking directives from a captain hadn’t been the easiest accommodation to get used to, but they got along surprisingly well. By the second day, her and the other techs’ lingering awkwardness around him melted away under the appeal of technical discussions and trying their new designs. Snap, another clever engineer, joined in when he could. Soon, Poe complained that he couldn’t understand half of what they were saying during lunch. It was Poe’s own fault. Hadn’t he wanted for Armitage to get along with his friends? 

Poe…

Armitage shocked himself working on one of the A-wing’s thrusters. He narrowed his eyes, refocusing on the task at hand. They were two days away from the heist. He couldn’t afford distractions. Perhaps Poe should have waited until afterward to spring this on him.

Except… One of them might die in the assault. Or both. Was Armitage’s fixation on the future really so important in light of that? So Poe didn’t intend on staying with him for the rest of his life. They could have now, even if any morning, he might wake up to find Poe gone.

Armitage searched for Poe in the hangar, but he was out testing the modifications on the engines. Nor did Armitage see him in the mess hall during lunch. Only in the late afternoon did they cross paths, when Poe came into the shipyard to report on his test runs. All had been a success, the kinks finally smoothed out. Their conversation stayed on task, not touching each other, expressions impassive. It scared the hell out of Armitage. Poe always touched him, unable to help himself. Armitage had never met anyone more physically affectionate in his life. 

Yet now he stood back, glancing at Armitage every once in a while with an expression that almost looked nervous. He had been uncharacteristically quiet after they finally rushed out of bed, pacing around the room as Armitage shaved, then hurried out into the hallway when Armitage emerged from the refresher, mumbling about already being late. Armitage almost pulled him aside right there in the shipyard and demanded to know if Poe had already changed his mind about him, but he had to get back to the engine repair. Duty came first, even if he only cared about it being a duty because of Poe himself. 

```````````````````````

Poe was already in their room when Armitage arrived that night, watching a holovid while sitting at the table. Upon seeing Armitage, he immediately turned it off and stood up, stepping toward him.

“Hey,” he said, smiling cautiously as he touched Armitage’s waist, fingers barely touching. 

“Hey,” Armitage replied, pressing Poe’s hands down firmly on his body.

Poe’s smile widened, relief in his eyes.

“I thought maybe you were still mad at me,” he said.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“I’m not angry. I’m over it.”

“No, you’re not. Honesty, remember.”

Armitage sighed, tugging Poe closer by his arms.

“I will get over it.”

“Okay.”

“Is that why you were looking at me like I was about to bite your head off earlier?”

Poe frowned.

“I wasn’t looking at you like that.” He slid his hands around Armitage’s back, lowering his eyes for a moment. “I just wasn’t sure how you felt about me. You were looking at me strangely, too. We left things in a weird place this morning. I want to make sure we’re okay.”

Armitage’s breath left him in a frantic sigh. Exhaustion tugged at his eyelids. Why must everything be so complicated between them? He dipped his head forward. Poe immediately raised his face to meet him. Their noses brushed together.

“We’re okay,” Armitage said. “Our lives are precarious enough without me complicating things by speculating about ten years in a future that may never come.”

Poe hugged him closer. Armitage wrapped his arms around his shoulders, nuzzling his soft curls as Poe tucked his head under his chin, kissing his collarbone.

“We’ll get there. We’ll make it out of this alive.”

Armitage smiled, amused and exasperated both.

“What did we just say about honesty?”

Poe raised his head, meeting his eyes with utter seriousness. 

“I’m not dying. And I’m not leaving. How about you?”

Armitage shook his head. He trailed his fingers along Poe’s jaw, the sharp stubble scratching his fingers. 

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Good.”

Stepping back a fraction, Poe pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the table. Armitage watched his muscles flex, fascinated by the movement. He hesitated for a moment, hands suddenly clumsy as he divested himself of his own shirt, suddenly immensely glad that he’d ducked back in here for a shower before that evening’s briefing. Poe placed his hands on Armitage’s shoulders and kissed him from his collarbone down along Armitage’s chest as far as he could reach in that position. Armitage grasped his back, breaths growing shallow, watching Poe deliver those delicious touches, his lips soft and slightly wet. He trembled, holding onto Poe for support lest he fall, his knees weakening as he scarcely dared believe that the shivering in his skin wasn’t some delusion, but finally, palpably real. 

“Bed,” Armitage mumbled, nails digging into Poe’s shoulders.

“Mmm…”

They stumbled over each other as they shuffled to the nearest bed, unwilling to let go of each other. Poe pushed him onto the mattress, straddling Armitage’s legs as he continued to kiss his chest, rubbing up Armitage’s sides with long, firm strokes. Armitage held onto his back, fingers curling. His lower body stirred, but he ignored it, pushing those treacherous sensations away and concentrating only on the feel of Poe’s mouth, the tenderness of his hands, his weight on his legs. 

“I love you,” Poe murmured, suddenly looking up, begging Armitage to believe him. “Please never doubt that.”

Armitage cradled his face, rubbing his cheeks with his thumbs. His chest ached, every breath pleasure and agony.

“I know.”

Poe climbed up to him, resting their foreheads together for a moment before raising his head. He grabbed Armitage’s right hand. Armitage already knew where he was leading him. Above Poe’s swiftly beating heart. 

“That’s all that matters,” Poe said. “Remember that. I’m not looking back at your past anymore. I’m looking now. And the future. I know you said no more promises, but it’s too late.”

Armitage only just now noticed, an unbelievable oversight. Poe’s mother’s ring. It was gone from Poe’s neck.


	27. Chapter 27

_Two days later_

Armitage awoke with a smirk on his lips. This was the day. When they finally made good on their weeks of preparations and stole a Star Destroyer from under the First Order’s nose. Beside him, Poe stirred, instantly alert, body thrumming with excitement as he rolled over to kiss Armitage’s cheek.

“It’s today,” Poe said, grinning, chest pressed to Armitage’s. “We’re doing this.”

Armitage touched his head, tugging at those precious curls.

“Yes, we are.”

He nuzzled Poe’s neck, sucking at the tender flesh at the juncture of his shoulder. Poe moaned lightly.

“Stop that,” he said. “There’s too much to do. Later.”

Armitage sighed in wistful disappointment as Poe pulled away and climbed out of bed. Poe shook his head at him, face shining with amusement.

“Where’s your military discipline?” he asked, while gathering his boots from under the bed. Beds, rather. They’d pushed both mattresses together to get some actual space to stretch out in.

“Discarded along with your shirt wherever you dropped it.”

Poe seemed to think that hangers were mere decoration with his penchant for leaving clothes where they didn’t belong. His disregard for neatness grated on Armitage’s nerves, but, after tonight, he would once more have his own command, along with his own chambers, exactly the same as the ones he’d left behind on the Finalizer. Sans the furnishings, of course. He wouldn’t be able to make it as luxurious as he wished with his current need to be economical, but, at least, he’d finally be able to unveil his painting and hang it up once more. There was no decent spot in this tiny room to display it. He’d only taken it out of its tube once to show it to Poe. And they’d finally have enough space to not be constantly stepping all over each other. 

“Found it,” Poe said, raising the offending shirt. “So get up.”

Armitage made a big show of dragging himself out of bed and into the refresher, but his muscles itched with ferocious eagerness, yearning for the attack to come.

`````````````````````

The exact nature of the plan had caused many a disapproving mumble since it was first suggested,, including from Organa herself. She had her own husband to blame for the madness that allowed it to be viable in the first place, which had turned one of their initial meetings into a domestic squabble, albeit a most subdued one as Organa quickly transferred the call onto her personal comlink and finished the most combative portion of the discussion in a private room. When she emerged, she had agreed to consider the proposal, as she couldn’t think of any other option. Nor could anyone else, for that matter. They truly had no other option. There was no way of disabling the shipyard’s shields from off-planet. They would have to go through it, and the only way to do so was to make the landing approach at lightspeed, slipping between cycles as the shield refreshed itself. 

Truly, a most insane and suicidal proposal. Poe loved it instantly. 

“I can do it,” he said when Organa suggested it to him.

Not ordered. Han had volunteered to make the run in the _Millennium Falcon_ , but Organa wasn’t comfortable ordering one of her pilots to do something so potentially suicidal unless they were both confident that the pilot could do it and remain unscathed. 

“You’re absolutely certain?” Armitage had asked, peering closely at Poe, watching for any trace of misgiving.

Poe considered for a moment, recognizing that they wanted a deliberate decision, and looked them both square in the eye, nodding.

“I’m sure. I won’t fail.”

Armitage read nothing but honesty and confidence on his face. So could Organa, by the looks of it, although her own senses could likely detect Poe’s feelings themselves. Poe had confirmed the rumors that she was, indeed, Force sensitive. It had made Armitage nervous at first, but he had yet to see her raise so much as a cup with the Force, nor was she the type to break people’s limbs on a whim, so he soon relaxed. 

The Force itself had been mentioned at one meeting, with a touch of longing, as Armitage’s hands clenched into bitter fists at his back, but, thankfully, Skywalker refused to leave his hermitage, and Rey remained with him to gain whatever scraps of teaching he was willing to give out, as well as to continue to try to convince him to join the Resistance. Armitage kept his thoughts on the matter to himself, but he was privately ecstatic that the two were staying away. They were welcome to remain in Ach-To for the rest of the war, as far as he was concerned. Not even a guilty pang at Poe’s continued disappointment that his childhood hero had buried himself away despite their plight would change Armitage’s mind. While Organa seemed content to only use the Force in non-physical ways (and Poe swore that she didn’t read minds), Skywalker was a Jedi, and Rey a wanabbe apprentice. Armitage had had enough of warrior Force-users, thank you very much. Just thinking about being in close proximity to one again… 

He had to clear his mind and breathe slowly to steady his shaking hands. 

They didn’t need any mystical powers to complete this mission. Clever minds and advanced technology were more than enough for any endeavor. Poe and Han Solo would pilot the command shuttle and the _Falcon_ , respectively, using the hyperspace lane map Armitage had brought in one of his datacards. They would set their transponders to transmit First Order clearance codes, just in case, but the plan depended on them arriving unnoticed. And a ship as infamous as the _Falcon_ would be instantly recognizable, in any case. It would have been far better to use another ship if the hyperspace jump didn’t require such excruciating precision. Solo knew the _Falcon_ better than any other ship. 

In that vein, Poe and Karé had been taking out the command shuttle every day for the past two weeks. Poe would fly it to the planet, and Karé would take over after. The vessel had hardly been designed for dogfights (although it was far from sluggish), and word may have gotten out that the Resistance had stolen one, but they needed that half a second’s advantage that a First Order vessel would give them for this particular task. And, thanks to Armitage’s insistence (though he never thought he’d be using them against their own manufacturers), the shuttle was equipped with twin laser cannons, which delivered as much force as a fighter’s. 

As soon as they landed, Poe would hop into an A-wing, which he had also been flying every day after Armitage had made sure that all its upgrades were as perfect as he could make them. He and BB-8 bemoaned not being able to take the _Black One_ , but it was two meters too long to fit in the _Falcon_ with that giant nose. A-wings were five meters shorter and designed for swift hit and runs, so Poe would have every opportunity to shine (as if not doing so was even remotely possible). The lack of BB-8’s support was a tad concerning, but not too much so. Poe had learned to fly in his mother’s A-wing. He was more than capable of handling himself, no matter how much BB-8 fussed over him. BB-8 was even sullen with Armitage, as if it were his fault that Solo had a predilection for puny freighters. 

Both the _Falcon_ and the command shuttle would be used as transports to deliver Armitage and his boarding party. Once they were on the ground, Poe would hop into the A-wing, and the three ships would take out the shield generators in time for a fleet of starfighters to back them up and provide cover. The plan was mad and riddled with weak points, the odds of failure too high for anyone to wish to calculate. The only people who liked it were the two, brash pilots who thrived on daredevil schemes that should have gotten them killed years ago. 

The two who were currently arguing over how best to stuff the A-wing into the _Falcon_ while a cranky Wookie brought in supplies. Armitage stood watching at a safe distance. Solo had greeted him with an unimpressed, “So you’re that First Order general, huh? You’re thinner than I expected”, before walking off. Chewbacca had growled at him as if Armitage had insulted his mother. Armitage had retreated before his limbs wound up in several, different places. 

“Not joining in, huh?” said a voice next to him.

Armitage glanced beside him. Finn. Lieutenant Finn, as he was now called. No last name. Poe had declined to pick one for him, and Finn had yet to find one he liked. Armitage had been forced to interact with him in regards to the heist, as Finn, former stormtrooper that he was, would be his second in command on the ground. Personal difficulties had to be set aside in favor of selecting the best personnel. Apart from his knowledge of First Order ships and protocols, Finn had been a top rate cadet. An abject failure as far as indoctrination was concerned, but he had excelled at everything else, including leadership. Excessive empathy and loyalty to his fellow cadets had been the beginning of his fall from grace, so he was an excellent fit for the Resistance. Apart from his refusal to kill innocent civilians. And his kind and amiable nature. And his warm and easy smile. Everyone had a nice thing to say about Finn.

Looking at him made Armitage want to vomit. He was Armitage’s polar opposite, the type of person that Poe should be with, according to some nasty mutterings Armitage had overheard in the hallway. Armitage had seethed with rage, fists clenched at his sides. He’d almost turned the corner and punished the offenders for insubordination, but such “cold” and “arrogant” behavior was exactly what they found such issue with. The public image that he had been trying so hard to cultivate, of a civil, cooperative leader, would be destroyed in an instant. And he couldn’t bear to face Poe’s disappointment. So he’d quickened his step and let it go. 

“I’m uninterested in discussions about ship storage,” Armitage said, raising his chin.

“Or hearing war stories about your dad’s buddies getting their asses handed to them by a bunch of rebels?”

Armitage’s eyes narrowed at the mention of his father. Poe and Solo’s conversation had shifted in that direction, likely due to Poe’s pleading instigation. 

“In case you have failed to notice the badge on my chest,” Armitage said, teeth grinding. “I am a rebel myself, so why should that bother me?”

Finn shrugged. 

“I was just wondering what you’re doing all the way out here with Poe right there. You two are practically joined at the hip now. Han doesn’t like you, huh? Or is it Chewie? Yeah, there’s no way that Chewie would be happy with some dour faced, ex-Imperial around.”

“The First Order isn’t the Empire. It’s b—”

Shit. 

“Were you about to say that it’s better?”

Finn’s antagonizing stare pierced him like shards of glass. Armitage’s jaw clenched, his hands aching from the strain to not shake or tighten into fists. Finn had lured him into a trap, and Armitage had willingly run for the bait. The only saving grace was that Poe was too far away to have overheard.

“I wasn’t.”

The tension in Armitage’s voice could have cut steel.

“You were. Do you lie to Poe like that, too?”

Armitage glared daggers at him. 

“I don’t lie to Poe.”

“Yeah, that’s what he says. I tried warning him about you. Told him all the nasty shit I’ve heard you did over the years. He said that you already told him. I was surprised.”

“You can desist from trying to split us up. It won’t work. As if my relationship with Poe were any of your business.”

“Poe’s my friend. I care about him.”

“He’s only your friend because I let you break him out. I allowed you to escape with your life. You have a very poor way of showing gratitude.”

Finn’s eyes narrowed. He leaned into Armitage’s space. Armitage braced his feet, ready to strike out if he needed to.

“Are you saying that I owe you?” Finn asked, incredulous. “For real? You kidnapped me from my home, stole me from my parents, used me as a pawn.”

“I didn’t kidnap you. That was my father.”

Finn stepped back and looked up and down Armitage’s body.

“Ginger. Pasty. An entitled bastard. Kinda looks the same to me.”

A wild snarl growled in Armitage’s throat. He drew his right hand back, his fist hungry to connect with Finn’s disdainful face. 

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t hit Poe’s friend, or a subordinate. Not in the saintly Resistance. 

“Hey! Guys, what’s going on?”

Hands touched Armitage. He shuddered, seeing Poe from the corner of his eyes. Poe pressed his shoulder, grabbing Armitage’s arm, covering his fist with his hand. He looked worriedly between Armitage and Finn, who only had the decency to look chagrined now that his friend was here. 

“Don’t you ever mention my father to me again,” Armitage hissed at Finn. 

Ignoring Poe’s startled expression, Armitage gently extricated his hand from his, squeezed his nape for a moment, and stalked off. He headed away from the airstrip to the grass surrounding the base, away from the rabble. He couldn’t stand being looked at or touched or spoken to right now. Every nerve inside him was screaming, his body shaking as if he’d been thrown into an icy lake. 

How dare he compare Armitage to his father? How dare he? He knew nothing. Nothing at all. If Armitage were still general, he’d have that contemptuous trooper’s head cut off where he stood.

Armitage tripped on a root. He stumbled, barely keeping from falling in the mud. His breath ached in his chest, tight and desperate. Poe hadn’t come after him. He’d stayed with Finn, his dear friend who had never killed anyone who didn’t deserve it and was nice to everyone and probably nursed baby animals back to health in his spare time. Poe was probably apologizing for his boyfriend almost hitting Finn, for being such a cold bastard. 

Armitage squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered the word. No one had dared call him that to his face in years. He had buried the truth so deep that it had been a shock that Finn knew at all. Or perhaps he didn’t know, and merely meant to call Armitage an asshole. Would virtuous Finn ever stoop so low?

Bugs swirled around Armitage’s face, landing on his skin with their disgusting, tiny legs. Armitage swatted them away and continued to move, keeping a close eye on the ground, stepping around the protruding roots and puddles. His boots sank slightly into the grass. He should head back and continue preparations, which involved working with that man. He huffed, expelling his breath violently through his nose. 

He had to apologize, for the sake of a fruitful working relationship, and Poe would hardly permit him to get away with not doing so. And, apart from that, Armitage might not have been entirely fair in implying that Finn owed him. Finn’s betrayal paled in comparison to Armitage’s own, and the timing of it had been a huge boon for Armitage and Poe. By that point, Armitage had no interest in punishing errant subordinates, anyway. If Finn hadn’t threatened his relationship with Poe, Armitage wouldn’t have said those words. That offense was enough to justify anything that Armitage spit at him, but Poe wouldn’t see it that way. 

Armitage may have been a cadet when Finn was first brought into the First Order, but Armitage had spearheaded the stormtrooper program for the last decade. Since Finn had been a teenager, Armitage had been ultimately responsible for his indoctrination, failed or not. Armitage had improved the training simulations himself, overseeing every aspect of the program. Phasma may have been the immediate leader, but Armitage had dominated every aspect of Finn’s life. Of a life without will or self-determination, a life many wretched and starving children were most grateful to receive, a berth in the cadet dormitory a heavenly dream compared to dying on a city street or in a primitive backwater. 

The very first recruits, the ones that had once terrorized Armitage until he made them pay for making him shake and cry, they had been this sort. Yet many had been quite the opposite. Did Finn remember loving parents? Or had he been so young that the word “parent” delivered nothing but a dark void in his memory? Did he cry over them like Armitage did for his stolen mother?

God, was he bonding with the trooper now? Was he wracked with guilt? 

Not wracked. But he had never pulled rank with him, never corrected his contemptuous looks or disdainfully forced “sir”s. Whatever their personal opinions, no one else on the base had dared disrespect his rank to his face, except Finn. And Armitage allowed it. For Poe’s sake, he’d told himself. Because of the outrage in his eyes when he’d corrected Armitage on Finn’s name. Yet Armitage had felt some small measure of responsibility all along, hadn’t he? Just a twinge. Like with that woman at the memorial, only there was no question now of his guilt. He was most certainly to blame. The fact that he hadn’t been in charge when Finn was kidnapped was academic, a trivial detail that no one would care about, and not even he found terribly exonerating. 

“Armitage!”

Armitage sighed, bracing himself. Poe had finally caught up with him. He turned around, facing Poe’s frustrated concern. More the former than the latter, along with a deserved amount of irritation.

“I’ll apologize to Finn,” Armitage said before Poe could speak. “I’m perfectly aware that he owes me nothing.”

Poe nodded, placing his hands on his hips. He looked down at the soggy ground before meeting Armitage’s eyes again.

“Okay. That saves me a lecture. You shouldn’t have said it.”

Armitage nodded mutely, his arms stiff at his sides.

“He shouldn’t have said what he did, either,” Poe continued, taking a step forward. “But…”

Armitage tilted his head, fondly regarding Poe’s inability to phrase his thoughts in an non-accusatory way. 

“But he is in his rights to berate me?” Armitage said, aiding him. “I’m to blame for his former life. I must abide by the consequences of my actions.”

Poe didn’t nod or reply in his words, but the look in his face displayed his begrudging agreement. 

“I told him that you hate your father,” Poe said. “Just that. I didn’t explain. Although…” He grimaced a bit. “He figured out that you were abused. I’m sorry. I didn’t confirm it. I didn’t say anything else.”

Armitage felt ill, his stomach clenching. Finn knew this about him, this intimate, horrific detail. Armitage folded suddenly fisting hands behind his back, then stepped forward, placing them on Poe’s shoulders.

“It’s okay,” he said. Poe wrapped his arms around his back, apologetic. “My reaction to his comparison was obvious enough. And there are only so many reasons why I son might hate his father. Besides, he probably knows I’m illegitimate.”

“He didn’t mention that.”

“The rumors never died down completely despite my best efforts. He may have heard them.”

Poe rubbed Armitage’s lower back with his fingertips, then pulled back, taking Armitage’s left hand.

“Come on,” he said, tugging Armitage forward. “Apology time. I asked Finn to wait by the _Falcon_. We’re shipping out in four hours, so you two have to fix this fast. Just enough so that you can work together.”

“I’m aware. Don’t worry, I’ll try to convince him not to shoot me in the back at the shipyard.”

Poe shot him an exasperated look.

“Finn wouldn’t do that. I know you’re joking, but…”

He trailed off, fingers shifting on Armitage’s hand. Fear spiked through Armitage for a second. Poe had promised just two days ago that he was no longer focusing on Armitage’s past, and Armitage was sure that Poe meant it sincerely, but how much of it was actually true? How well could his intention translate to reality as time wore on? 

“Not the time for jokes,” Armitage said, subdued. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

They walked in silence the rest of the way. Finn was helping carry munitions into the _Falcon_ when they arrived. Poe went over to inform him of Armitage’s intentions while Armitage waited at a slightly greater distance than he’d been standing at before. Finn looked over his shoulder at him, then finished carrying the box in his hands into the cargo bay before striding over to Armitage. Poe remained with the ship, overseeing them from afar like a worried parent. Armitage tried to ignore his gaze and focus only on the man walking toward him. Finn’s face was set in a dubious expression, discomfort tensing his shoulders. He stopped before Armitage, his stance firmer than the arms crossed over his chest.

“You have something you want to say to me?” he asked.

Armitage inhaled slowly. He folded his hands behind his back, but slouched just a tad to appear contrite. 

“I apologize for saying that you owed me. You don’t, of course. I needed your help to rescue Poe, for which I should give you my thanks. Apart from my part… My direct responsibility in forcing you to become a stormtrooper.”

“Yeah, apart from that,” Finn said snidely. “Do you feel bad about that? At all?”

Would Finn even believe him if he said yes?

“I believe I do feel some measure of guilt, yes. I’m not here to grovel before you or beat my chest in remorse for my crimes, but I have gained an unpleasantly different perspective in the last weeks. It was wrong to take you from your parents and force you into a life that you didn’t want.”

Finn studied him for an unbearably long while. Armitage dug his nails into his palms, balking at being examined by this man like this, but he must endure it. Poe was watching, and, damn it all, none of what Armitage had said was untrue. 

“Huh,” Finn said, looking surprised. “That’s more than I was expecting. If you really had groveled, I wouldn’t have believed any of it.”

“But you do believe me?”

“I think I do. It’s kinda surreal.”

Armitage was too agitated to enjoy the amusing confusion in Finn’s face.

“So you’ll have no problem working with me today? Because that is absolutely crucial.”

“No problem. I’m not going to screw things up just because I don’t like you. This job is bigger than the two of us. Even if it is getting you into another Star Destroyer.”

“The Resistance is in desperate need of cruisers. The make of the ship is irrelevant.”

“Now that I don’t believe, but whatever you need to tell yourself. Look, I uh… I was trying to piss you off, but I didn’t actually mean to make a dig about your… your past. With your father. I didn’t know. I mean, I had heard rumors about… your… origins, but…”

Armitage rolled his eyes. They’d still be here by launch time if Finn carried on tiptoeing like this.

“My mother was the mistress and my father did abuse me. I know that you know, which I’m really not happy about, but there were we are. Need I threaten you to ensure that you won’t divulge this knowledge, or can I count on your silence, as a favor to Poe, if not for me?”

Finn frowned, taken aback, as if Armitage had offended him by suggesting that he might talk.

“I would never reveal anything like this. You’re an asshole, but this is too personal. Too horrible. I figured it out as soon as I said it. The look on your face… I’ve seen that look in the cadets who came from abusive homes, the ones who were glad to never see their parents again. So I guess I owe you an apology, too.”

Armitage stared at him, uncomprehending, playing Finn’s words back in his mind. 

“You’re apologizing to me? You didn’t even know. And you hate me.”

“Yes, I do, but I don’t like using something like that against someone, even if it’s you. It’s a little something called compassion we good guys feel.”

Armitage felt the slight, but let it pass unremarked, stuck on the fact that Finn was being kind to him. Him. After what he’d done. It didn’t make sense. He tilted his head in acknowledgement, yearning for this forced interaction to be over so that he could flee back into work and ignore the bizarre confusion aching in his head. 

Compassion. Armitage’s own guilt was one thing, but feeling actual sympathy toward the person who had dictated every aspect of your life, indirectly or not? How was this possible? 

He snuck a glance at Poe, who had taken over Finn’s task and was sorting through supplies. Poe raised his head from the crate he was inspecting. Armitage looked away before their eyes could meet. Armitage’s inaction and decisions had gotten Muran and L’ulo killed, yet Poe was still able and willing to be with him and care for Armitage’s pains and worries as if they were his own. He cared for everyone, even the raw recruits he had only said hi to once. How did they do it? How could they care so much for all these people, even former enemies?


	28. Chapter 28

Twenty minutes before they arrived at the shipyard, Armitage had still been unable to put the matter out of his mind. How could he, when Finn had chosen to travel with them? Finn remained in the passenger cabin with the others for the most part, but emerged every so often to speak to Poe. Thankfully, he never lingered for long, looking as displeased by having to be in Armitage’s company as he himself was. Apart from asking how it went right after, Poe hadn’t mentioned the incident, seeming just as eager to put it behind them, and Armitage was most grateful for it. Finn and he could tolerate each other and fight together, but there was no need to ever go beyond that. Or worry about what it meant that Finn’s pity (for Armitage had decided that this is what it truly was) made his insides twist unpleasantly. They had both apologized and Armitage had admitted to some modicum of guilt, so there was no need to think about any of this ever again.

Ever. 

Why did Poe and Finn have to laugh like that with each other? Some private joke. Armitage hadn’t been paying attention, double checking a schematic on his datapad. It was Armitage’s own fault. He’d forced them together in a life or death situation, but why did that mean that they must become friends? Close ones, too, given the way that they leaned comfortably toward each other and smiled easily as they stood at the other side of the cockpit away from Armitage. Every time that Poe looked at Finn and the stormtrooper body glove he still wore (although it was better tech than any fabric the Resistance had), how could Poe not be reminded of Finn’s past, which linked immediately to Armitage’s? 

_Do you want me to tell you how much it hurt that the man I love stole children from their parents to turn them into brainwashed soldiers?_

After leaving the airstrip, Armitage had checked the stormtrooper roster. Finn was taken from his homeworld when he was three. Armitage had been fourteen at the time. Just a year earlier, it had been his idea to induct children into the program at even younger ages than his father had specified. His father, of course, had rejected the notion with a sneer and an insult, which he would surely have loved to accompany with a hard smack. But Armitage would have immediately called Rae and showed her the flowering bruise. He had called her to explain his proposal and his father’s disinclination to do what was best for the nascent First Order. Rae had private words with his father, and his plan was soon implemented. So Armitage had partly lied to Finn. He may not have been in charge of the program at the time, but he had set the wheels in motion for Finn’s kidnapping at such a young age.

_What’s wrong?_

Armitage turned to BB-8, who had rolled up to him while he moped like some conscience-having “good guy”. 

“Nothing,” he said. “I got lost in thought.” He looked over BB-8, who had been painted black and silver to go undercover. “How are you liking the makeover?”

BB-8 beeped uncertainly, looking down at themselves. 

_I’m excited for the mission, but I don’t like looking like this. You are 100% sure that this washes off, right?_

“Of course.”

Although not too easily, else an ill-timed rainfall would blow their cover. Armitage caught movement in his peripheral vision. Finally, Poe returned to the pilot’s seat. Armitage felt Finn’s gaze on him, but refused to look up, his right hand tight on his seat where Finn and Poe couldn’t see. Finn soon left, returning to the passenger cabin.

“Alright,” Poe said, peering at the monitors. “Eight minutes to arrival.”

He swiveled in his chair, right foot jiggling on the floor, looking straight ahead at the streaks of white. Armitage regarded him, detecting a slight trace of apprehension beneath his restless energy. Poe caught him looking. 

“I’m not nervous,” he said, shooting Armitage a mildly exasperated look.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Your eyes did.”

“You’re allowed to be a little nervous. This approach is insane.”

Armitage lowered his voice at the end to not be overheard. 

“I thrive on insane,” Poe said.

Armitage smiled proudly. 

“I know.”

Poe reached out, palm up. Armitage placed his hand in his, which Poe proceeded to kiss, first on the knuckles, followed by a lingering touch on Armitage’s palm, caressing softly with his lips. Armitage rubbed the tip of his nose with his thumb, delighting at the feel of a smile on his skin. Lightness immediately permeated him, lifting the burden of this ridiculously, wretched feeling he’d been experiencing. 

“Don’t worry,” Poe said, lifting his head. “If I wasn’t sure that I wouldn’t kill us all, I wouldn’t have agreed to do this.”

The uneasiness that Armitage had seen earlier was gone now, just like he’d intended.

“Nor would I have allowed you to.”

Armitage kissed Poe’s hand in turn and pressed it to his cheek, enjoying the simple comfort of his touch. They remained so until the cabin door opened and part of the boarding party came pouring out. Armitage let go, both their stances swiftly returning to a professional manner. 

“We’re close, aren’t we?” Iolo asked, standing between them to look through the viewport.

“Four minutes out,” Poe said.

Three minutes later, Solo’s voice came over the comlink. 

“Shuttle, we’re leaving hyperspace in a few seconds.”

“Copy that, _Falcon_.”

To prevent the two ships from crashing into each other, the _Falcon_ was arriving about thirty seconds earlier. Poe held the control yoke steady, his left hand on the lever that would disengage the hyperdrive and return them to real space. Or rather, the planet’s atmosphere. His jaw and shoulders were taut, eyes focused on the coordinates in the monitor. Armitage clasped the armrests of his chair, not even bothering to hide how his fingers dug into the cushion. Everyone in the shuttle held their breath, grabbing onto something as they braced themselves for either the rapid surge of atmospheric pressure or being smashed into the planet’s surface. 

_Poe can do this, Poe can do this,_ Armitage chanted in his mind.

Poe yanked the lever back. The streaks disappeared, replaced by a mass of green. Proximity alarms blared. The mass grew closer, taking over the entire viewport. Armitage gaped at it, his heart in his throat. Gasps and curses sounded behind him. 

“Pull up!” Finn cried out. 

“I am!” Poe said, pulling on the control yoke as far back as it could go. 

A sliver of blue appeared at the top of the viewport. It grew bigger, the shuttle leveling out over the surface instead of aiming straight for it. The wings smashed into something beneath them. Trees. The shipyard was surrounded by a thick forest, which was currently taking its revenge on them by trying to bring them down, the shields only providing minimal protection against the impact at this close range. Poe lifted the shuttle a little to raise the wings as if he were about to land. Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief as the rattling died down. Only the strictest professionalism kept Armitage from reaching out and squeezing Poe’s shoulder. 

Poe had done it. He’d gotten them through. In front of them, the _Falcon_ merrily sheered the trees down.

“We need to land,” Armitage told Solo over the comlink.

“I’m trying,” the man growled.

Armitage had already provided suitable coordinates, close enough to be viable, but not so much that they would be seen by the naked eye. The bafflers they’d installed in the ships should hide them from the sensors, apart from the low altitude. Finally managing to get his ship high enough to only chop off the top parts of the trees, Solo veered to the right, heading to the coordinates. In the horizon, the shipyard loomed, encircled by high walls bearing shield generators, four in total. And beyond the walls, a glance at their prize. The top tiers of the Star Destroyer rose above the wall’s cover, stretching out almost the entire length of the yard like a mountain of black doonium, a triumph of mechanical engineering. Armitage leaned forward in his seat, drawn to it, a smile on his lips. His blood sang with the proximity, the call to home. She wasn’t the _Finalizer_ , but soon, she would be so much greater with Poe at his side. 

As he’d hoped, the environs hadn’t been altered since the last time Armitage had been planet side. They arrived at a small clearing, barely big enough to hold both ships, but they wouldn’t be there long. The trees shielded them from the shipyard’s gaze. Once on the ground, everyone moved at once, grabbing their equipment and descending down the ramp save for Karé, who replaced Poe in the pilot’s seat. 

“Good luck,” Karé told Poe.

“You, too,” Poe replied, patting her on the shoulder. 

Armitage and Poe walked parallel to each other, BB-8 at their heels, rushing around the _Falcon_ , which already had its cargo hold doors open, revealing the A-wing. The rest of the ground crew disembarked quickly from the _Falcon_ and congregated with the others under Finn’s direction. 

“I’m taking out the A-wing now,” Poe told Solo over the comlink. 

“Copy.”

Poe turned to Armitage and BB-8.

“Alright,” he said, fierce determination in his eyes. “Let’s do this.”

He and Armitage reached for each other, pressing their foreheads together in a fierce embrace. Armitage grasped his face, kissing his cheek.

“Come back to me,” he murmured.

“I will. You, too. I want to find you in that Star Destroyer in one piece.”

Armitage’s chest ached as they separated, but he swallowed it down. He’d never seen anyone defy death like Poe. They smiled tightly, then Armitage forced himself to walk away. 

_Are you sure you’ll be okay without me?_ BB-8 asked behind him, sounding doleful.

“I’ll be fine,” Poe said, crouching down to pet their head. “You have your own job to do. And take care of Armitage for me.”

Armitage smiled for a moment. Before leaving D’Qar, Poe had asked him to look after BB-8.

“BB-8 can more than hold their own,” Poe had said. “But just in case, make sure they’re okay, please?”

“Come on, BB-8,” Armitage called behind him.

BB-8 beeped uncertainly, but soon rolled to Armitage’s side. 

“He’ll be alright,” Armitage said as they went around the _Falcon_. “Poe can fly his way out of anything.”

BB-8 beeped in agreement, slowly shaking off their worry. 

The ground crew headed into the forest, Armitage, BB-8, and Finn at the lead. They numbered forty-six in total, a tiny number to board a Star Destroyer, but that had been all that they could squeeze into the two ships. Pushing through the thick bramble and fallen logs in the forest proved annoying and tiresome, a chilly breeze smacking every patch of uncovered skin despite the leaf cover, but they couldn’t have risked landing any closer. BB-8 had to help themselves along at times by pulling themselves up and over obstacles by attaching their cables to nearby trees. The trek took close to an hour, by which time Armitage’s neck and back were damp with sweat, the breeze now feeling almost warm. He wished he could remove his jacket, but he needed the protection. Gloom permeated the forest now, the planet’s sun descending quickly, its disappearance providing them some cover. The shipyard’s powerful, exterior lights were already turned on, but there should be plenty of shadows for them to exploit. 

“We’re at the gate,” Armitage spoke into his comlink. “BB-8 is going in.” 

It broadcasted to all the ships, including the fighters waiting in a safe spot a short hyperspace jump away from the planet. A flurry of “copy”s responded. With a last glance at Armitage, BB-8 rolled forward toward the wide door in the wall a few meters before them. It only existed as a last ditch emergency escape for the officers in the headquarters towering above them, and could normally only be opened with a properly coded officer’s cylinder. That is, unless you were a clever droid with several subroutines designed for subterfuge and infiltration. BB-8 connected their port to the console. After a few seconds, the door slid open. 

_Done_ , BB-8 beeped, indicating that they had also disabled the security cams. 

“Everyone move,” Armitage said, rushing forward, blaster held firmly before him.

He lead the way inside, BB-8 at his heels. They were in a corridor, which ended by a turbolift. But the lift wasn’t the only way out. Another door stood beside the turbolift, opening to a service corridor underground that led straight to the drydocks, the first of which, from their position, was the one they sought. This one didn’t require high security to access, so BB-8 opened it in a second. BB-8 turned toward the turbolift, calling it down. They would head upstairs to find a computer with access to the gun batteries and the shields. Meanwhile, Armitage and the rest ducked inside the underground corridor, blasters still drawn, ready to take down anyone who appeared. Halfway through, BB-8 contacted him that he was done and headed their way. 

“Everyone,” Armitage broadcast over the comlink. “Move now.”

“Copy.”

Their pace quickened. There, to the right. A door. Armitage sprinted the last, few meters to reach it. A plaque next to it read _ST Dock 1_. He grinned. This was it. And already he heard the unmistakable whir of a BB unit approaching.

“He’s back,” Finn called out.

People moved back to give BB-8 space to rush to the door, their round body a silver-black blur. Connecting their port, BB-8 quickly unlocked the door, which opened into a turbolift. Not ideal, but the security forces would be occupied elsewhere soon enough. Luckily, it was a wide carriage, so they managed to cram a little over a third of their force inside while still allowing those at the front to hold their blasters at the ready. 

As the lift began to move, the ground shook. The air raid had begun. 

“Western batteries are down,” Poe said over the comlink. 

“There goes one shield generator,” Solo said. 

The turbolift reached the top. 

“I plugged in one TIE entrance,” Solo said.

That would be the shaft that led to the underground security TIE hangar.

The turbolift door opened. The main hangar yawed before them. Only a few personnel were on deck, scattered about. Blaster fire and alarms sounded around them, followed by an explosion. 

“Move in,” Armitage called out, firing his rifle. 

One man went down, followed by more as the boarding party surged forward. 

“We’re here,” Jess said over the comlink.

Armitage ran down the deck, BB-8 at his side. He barely registered the engine thrum of starfighters outside. The roar of a heavy canon echoed on the bulwarks.

“Eastern battery’s working again,” Poe said.

The ship’s klaxons blared. Shit. Someone had triggered the internal alarm. 

“Whoohoo!” Poe explained. “Battery’s down.”

Armitage turned left, rounding the corner to the command bridge. The personnel had been neutralized. Either one of them had tripped the alarm before being killed, or someone was in the command bridge. He ran up the stairs. 

“The second group is here,” Finn said on the comlink. “One more.”

“Copy.”

Armitage slapped the button to open the bridge door. He shot the two men standing inside before they could fire. He swept along the monitors, rifle raised. Empty. BB-8 clanged up the stairs, hoisted by their cables.

The floor shook. Armitage ran to a monitor, pulling up the ship status. The restraints keeping the ship docked had just been disengaged. The thrusters were online, hovering the ship in place.

“Hurry,” he called to BB-8, who finally rolled into the room. 

BB-8 connected to the main computer. They had already agreed on a plan of action. First, power down the cannons, then activate the shields. Armitage wouldn’t put it past the First Order to order the ship destroyed just so that the Resistance couldn’t make off with it. 

_I locked out the main bridge from navigation, communications, and cam feed_ , BB-8 said. _I don’t know how long I can hold it._

“The rest made it,” Finn said.

“Meet me by the stairs with ten of them. We’re going to the bridge. BB-8, silence my coms from the troops outside. Tell me if something happens only if I need to know immediately.”

He couldn’t have the distraction of hearing everything.

_Okay. Seventeen stormtroopers came in through the port hangar._

Shit. Armitage sprinted down the stairs. Finn was already directing the rest of the party as BB-8 relayed the remainder of the enemy positions.

_Six on the bridge. One captain, two lieutenants, three engineers._

The group split off, headed for different turbolifts. Armitage took them ten levels up, then down the corridor toward the stern. They should be headed straight for the bridge, but they needed to get rid of these stormtroopers first. The troopers were still in the main corridor. BB-8 updated him on how close they were. At thirty meters, Armitage ordered everyone to hide behind a corner, then rolled a small, spherical device down the corridor. It was the width of his palm, a little something his Special Projects Division had cooked up before he stole all the prototypes and destroyed the First Order’s copies of the data. 

“What’s this thing?” one of the troopers asked before the device prevented him from speaking ever again.

Electricity burst from it, latching onto the nearest organics and frying them where they stood. Fierce crackling and panicked shouting echoed down the corridor. Armitage felt Finn’s heavy gaze on him. He glanced at him, his own smirk dying at the sight of Finn’s narrowed eyes. Armitage hadn’t even realized that he’d been smiling. 

_Eight troopers left,_ BB-8 said.

Blaster fire ripped down the corridor. Everyone pressed back against the corridor. 

“BB-8, positions,” Armitage said.

_Three in a left doorway twenty meters out, the rest to the right at twenty-three meters._

Finn and a few others fired back. One muffled cry. 

_One down,_ BB-8 said. 

Another cry, this time on their side. Cagney, shot in the right shoulder. Two others pulled her back away from the blasts. Armitage looked around. Where the hell were those maintenance shafts? 

“The maintenance shaft,” Finn said just as Armitage opened his mouth to ask. “There’s an opening right behind us. Some of us can get over there. Trap them.”

“My thoughts exactly. Go.”

Finn and five soldiers rushed off beyond the bend of the corridor. Getting to the opposite side would take them a couple of minutes. Blaster shots skimmed beside Armitage’s face. He fired back, peering down the hall. A white helmet appeared at the edge of a doorway. Armitage fired. The trooper fell back. Only six left now. They continued firing, more as a distraction now. Neither side could see the other for more than a second. 

“We’re here,” Finn said. “Right inside the door. We’re nine meters behind them.”

“I’ll stop firing when you come out.”

“I’m opening the door. Now!”

Armitage raised his left first, hissing, “Stop!” Everyone did. New shots echoed in the distance. New cries. New trooper armor hitting the ground. 

The corridor grew silent. 

“They’re all down,” Finn said. 

BB-8 confirmed this. Armitage’s knees creaked as he stood up from his crouch. He looked behind him at Cagney, who rested against the bulwark, hand pressed to the bleeding wound, grimacing in pain. Donin and Namis holstered their weapons and turned to her, Donin extracting a painkiller syringe from her medkit while Namis rolled out a bacta bandage.

“How are you?” Armitage asked.

The words tasted awkward on his tongue, discomfortingly unfamiliar. No one in the First Order cared about the welfare of an injured subordinate, only their utility. But a Resistance admiral was obligated to. They all minded each other’s health and feelings so dearly. Poe would be crouching next to her, touching her hale shoulder, assuring her that she would be alright, that he was proud of her for doing her duty. 

But Armitage wasn’t Poe, so after she said, “I’ll pull through, sir,”, barely disguising her surprise at his concern, he only nodded in acknowledgement and went to meet with Finn. There was no time for handholding. BB-8 was barely holding on to the ship’s controls. But they had another wrinkle to deal with thanks to the Resistance’s devotion to the sanctity of life and all that crap that he kept trying to wrap his head around so that he could be this better person that Poe kept hoping for. Two of the troopers were still alive. The practical thing would have been to simply kill them, but Armitage couldn’t do such a heartless thing with everyone’s judgmental eyes bearing down on him. So he ordered that they be tied up, sedated, and, once they were sure that they wouldn’t bleed out, stuffed in a storage closet. 

While Donin and Namis were taking care of that waste of time, along with minding Cagney, Armitage and the rest rushed into the maintenance tunnel. They climbed aboard a hydraulic lift that skimmed the edge of the ship, providing access to every level. Halfway up, the ship vibrated, loud bangs rattling the lift against the bulwarks. The cannons were firing. A spike of fear for Poe stabbed through Armitage.

 _My control slipped,_ BB-8 said. _It’s getting harder to hold on._

“Just a little longer,” Armitage murmured. Poe was fine. He was always fine.

They’d taken too long with the stormtroopers, but their unit was stretched so thin as it was. The cannons grew silent. The lift stopped at the top level. 

“Is the corridor clear?” Armitage asked BB-8.

_Yes. They’re all on the bridge. They shut the door._

Armitage nodded at Finn, who opened the door and peeked outside just in case. They hoped into the corridor and sprinted the short distance to the bridge door. It was reinforced doonium, blast proof, impossible to penetrate without a heavy cannon. Luckily, all they needed was a droid.

“Give me their positions,” Armitage told BB-8 in a low tone, standing back from the door so his voice wouldn’t carry inside.

_The captain is on the central platform. One is at the comms terminal, one at navigation, two at gun control--_

The ship lurched up. BB-8 cursed. After a few seconds, the ship grew still, the navigation arrested again.

_One at the monitors by the door._

One of the batteries roared again. BB-8’s swearing would make a Corellian smuggler blush. Armitage smiled, impressed. He relayed the positions to his unit while BB-8 silenced the gun, drawing a makeshift diagram on the floor. They got into position by the door, each of them assigned a target. The comms and navigation monitors were blocked by a panel from where they stood now, but the occupants had no idea that they were outside, so they weren’t braced for an imminent assault. The chance of one of them having time to fire back was low. 

“Open it,” Armitage whispered to BB-8.

The door whooshed open. Instantly, Larte shot the nearest man from the door’s left. Armitage and Finn ran in, shooting the two to the right. Immediately behind them, the rest shot the captain and gunnery crew. BB-8 whirred in relief, finally able to relax their hold on the main controls. Armitage sprinted to the navigation terminal and shoved the engineer’s body on the floor, taking his seat. 

_The rest of the First Order personnel are down, except for a fight at the forward flight deck. I’ve directed the other crews there. Four more of ours were injured. Two dead._

Engaging the thrusters, Armitage got the ship airborne. It swayed gently under his feet as it rose, then moved forward toward the stars, slowly gaining speed. 

“Larte, take my seat.”

“Yes, sir.”

Larte was an engineer. Armitage had already vetted that they’d be able to manage the ship’s navigation system, as well as the rest of the unit. He directed them to the necessary controls.

“BB-8, reopen my comms channels.”

Immediately, Poe’s voice came over the line. Armitage expelled a sigh of relief he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

“Admiral, we took out all the TIEs, the batteries, most of the ships they were working on. We have nine birds down. The _Falcon_ took a hit. She’s still flying, but she needs to dock.”

Armitage activated the holotank. The _Falcon_ listed to starboard, smoke blowing from its stern.

“Solo, come aboard. Try for the main hangar portside.”

“Will do.”

Below, the shipyard lied in ruins, buildings and vessels fiery wrecks. A few scattered figures on the ground fired into the air, a last ditch attempt at loyalty. Armitage smiled, joy and satisfaction coursing through him. The _Falcon_ flew over the Star Destroyer, swooping into the main hangar. 

“Everyone pull back,” Armitage said into the comlink. “Follow the Star Destroyer, then dock once we’re in space. Main hangar, if you can, but any will do.”

The ships soon breached the atmosphere. Armitage stood at his familiar spot at the front of the bridge, watching the charcoal haze of the clouds shrink, giving way to the brilliant dark of space. He breathed deeply. Exhaustion drained his body as the adrenaline retreated, spent, but this sight, this steel floor under his boots, this familiar stance, feet spread, hands folded behind his back, this breathed life into him. 

“We’re all in,” Poe said.

Armitage smiled deep within his bones.

“The calculations are complete,” Larte said. “Jumping in three, two…”

The ship vibrated, the stars elongating into sharp lines as they jumped forward.


	29. Chapter 29

Armitage yearned to run down to the hangar and wrap Poe in his arms, but as the commander of the ship, _his_ ship, he was obligated to stay put. Besides, he was the only one who knew where anything was. Operating a Star Destroyer was hardly part of stormtrooper training, so Finn would be useless in this endeavor. 

In any case, he had already run off to supervise prisoner management. Five, in total. All low ranking. Unless the First Order had made a drastic change within the last month, Armitage doubted that they’d be able to provide any useful intel. He suddenly regretted not having the captain stunned rather than killed. She might have known something useful. No matter. Chances were low, in any case, and he was too gleeful by their success to care about some random officer. 

They had nabbed the Star Destroyer at precisely the right time. Exactly as scheduled, it had been due to be commissioned tomorrow, so every system was in perfect working order. It had suffered some superficial damage in the corridors, and a few monitors in the flight deck would need replacing, but this is why they always installed several redundant systems (his only comfort aboard the _Finalizer_ during Ren’s destructive rages). Thirty-five TIE fighters were aboard. Nineteen were SF, the rest regular. The _Falcon_ would need extensive repairs before she was space worthy, but that was simple enough. The shuttle had suffered damage to a wing, but Karé had flown her admirably, according to Poe. 

They reached their first landing point in twenty minutes, lingered for a bit, then jumped again in a different direction. Armitage had thrown a wrench into the hyperspace tracking program as soon as he was certain of his feelings for Poe (in hindsight, an obvious sign that he should have faced facts), and corrupted all the files that he didn’t keep, declaring the project a failure, so they couldn’t be tracking them, but it paid to be cautious. 

Poe and BB-8 arrived on the bridge during the second trip as Armitage was teaching Larte the intricacies of the navigation system. His hair was slightly damp, although he still wore his flight suit, so he must have only splashed some water on his face. His face lit up in awe as he beheld the bridge. 

“Wow,” he said, smiling at Armitage, who had excused himself with Larte as soon he saw Poe. “You did it. You actually did it.”

“We did it.”

They grabbed each other in a hug, arms tight around each other. Poe smelled of sweat and recycled air, but Armitage didn’t mind at all. He wanted to nuzzle and kiss his face so badly, but even the Resistance’s shoddy standards of professionalism dictated that they wait until they were alone. So they stepped back, gripping each other’s arms for only a moment longer before releasing each other. As soon as they did, weariness crept into Poe’s eyes, barely pushed back by his enthusiasm over their accomplishment. They’d lost nine pilots. Some Poe knew well, others not, yet he would mourn all of them. Armitage had already offered his condolences over the comm. He still couldn’t claim to understand it, but he had grown to admire Poe’s generous heart all the same. He owed his present happiness to it, after all. 

BB-8 had rolled down the central platform and was surveying the equipment. Poe had already washed off the offending paint, restoring them to their natural, white-orange state.

 _This is fantastic,_ they said. _Not even the Republic has a ship like this. We’ll be the envy of everyone._

“We could never have done it without you,” Armitage said, walking up to them, Poe close by his side. “You should have seen them, Poe. Locking the First Order out of their own ship’s controls. Watching over us every step we took.”

Armitage leaned down to pet BB-8’s head, filled with sudden fondness for the droid. The mission truly would have been a failure if it weren’t for them. BB-8 beeped happily.

“BB told me,” Poe said, smiling at them as well. “Told me about your actions, too.”

Armitage stiffened, then forced himself to relax before Poe noticed. Had his smirk at the mobile tazer’s lethal results been caught by the cams? If it had been, either BB-8 hadn’t told Poe, or Poe had gotten much better at lying since yesterday, for his proud smile gave no indication of it. Which meant that Finn hadn’t told him, either. An act of compassion, or was he waiting to see if Armitage displayed more signs of wickedness? 

“I couldn’t have done it without BB-8’s help,” Armitage said, pushing that fear back. 

_True_ , BB-8 said, tone slightly cheeky. _Can I get a lubrication bath as soon as we get back? I’m exhausted. I feared my processors would overload and I’d fry something._

“Of course, buddy,” Poe said. “You can have daily baths for as long as you want, as far as I’m concerned.”

“You more than deserve it. You might even be able to take one here, if they already stocked the oil. But we’re still going through the supply lists, so I’m not sure. I’ll certainly make sure we don’t run out in the future for any time you’re stationed on the _Dameron_.”

Poe gaped at him, frowning in disbelief and confusion.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “The what now?”

BB-8 also beeped in startled inquiry. A grin grew on Armitage’s face. 

“Goode, contact General Organa.”

“Right away, sir.”

Poe looked between her and Armitage, looking more bewildered by the second.

“Armitage, did you just say my name?”

The call connected, Organa’s hologram appearing in front of them. Armitage had called her as soon as the ship had first jumped into hyperspace. Apart from giving his mission report, he had inquired as to the choosing of the ship’s name. 

“It’s your heist,” she’d said. “Why don’t you choose it? Just nothing, you know, First Order style.”

“General,” Armitage said now. “I’ve chosen the name for the ship. I’m sure you’ll like it. The _Dameron_.”

Poe’s eyes widened even further. BB-8’s head whirred as they turned to stare between Poe and Armitage. Armitage struggled not to burst into a laugh at their reactions, savoring the shock and amazement in Poe’s face. Everyone on the bridge had dropped their tasks and was staring at them. Organa was the only one who didn’t look surprised. A fond smile shone on her lips as she looked between them, affectionate as she looked at Poe, and approving as she turned back to Armitage. Her reaction to learning that Poe and he had renewed their romantic connection had been a relieved, “Finally. I was wondering when that would finally happen”, before moving on to discussing ship improvements.

“I had a feeling you might go with that,” she said. “Name approved.”

The bridge erupted in cheers and applause. Poe looked around in a daze, a precious smile finally breaking through his befuddlement.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” he fumbled. “For real?”

Armitage touched his arm, trailing his fingers over his sleeve.

“Yes, for real,” he said.

Poe leaned close, whispering, “Admiral, permission to speak to you in private?”

The urge to grab Poe and kiss him right there and there almost overpowered him.

“Permission granted. General, if you’ll excuse me, I have some matters to attend to.”

She rolled her eyes at his phrasing, then nudged her head to the side, still grinning.

“Go on,” she said.

Her hologram evaporated. Armitage strode down the bridge, Poe following alongside, both practically vibrating with need.

“I’ll be back shortly,” Armitage announced, tone impassive, yet there wasn’t a single person who didn’t know exactly what they were going to do. On the _Finalizer_ , catching his subordinates grinning knowingly about his activities would have infuriated him, but now he didn’t mind so much. Huh. He would have been bothered if they thought that he and Poe were off to have sex, but Poe was open about being ace and thoroughly uninterested in sexual activity. At first, Armitage had been hesitant about revealing something so personal about himself, yet they already knew that he wasn’t having sex since he was with Poe, so he had felt half out of the closet already. And he had wished everyone to know that Poe and he were much more compatible than they’d initially assumed. 

As soon as they left the bridge, Poe grabbed his hand and pulled him into the nearest office, shutting the door behind them. He didn’t even bother turning the light on before grabbing at Armitage and pulling him down, covering every inch of his face in hungry kisses. Hugging him close with one arm, Armitage fumbled at the wall for the light switch. He wanted to see Poe’s face.

“I love you,” Poe murmured. “I can’t believe you did that. You named your ship after me. A Star Destroyer.”

Where the hell was that damn switch? 

There! Armitage flicked it on, squinting a bit as the room was bathed in light. Poe continued to kiss him, not pausing for a moment. He trailed down Armitage’s neck, pushing his shirt and jacket back to suck lightly at the juncture between neck and shoulder. Armitage gripped him tighter, moaning slightly at the delicious sensation. Not being able to see Poe’s face suddenly wasn’t the worst thing in the world. 

“I feared that it might come off as too romantic,” he said, stroking Poe’s hair. “But I fully approve of this reaction.”

“Not too romantic. Not at all.” 

Poe raised his head, smiling at him, affection glowing off him. He cradled Armitage’s face before sliding his hands under Armitage’s jacket, still gazing into Armitage’s eyes with such warmth and happiness that Armitage couldn’t breathe, speechless at Poe’s beauty. He touched his face, gently stroking a long, thick eyebrow, a perfectly carved cheekbone, that angular nose, those plump lips, that fine jaw, already scratchy with a hint of stubble. Poe caressed up Armitage’s face, digging his fingers into his hair, tugging lightly at the strands as he stroked his scalp.

“I’m messing up your hair,” Poe said. “Sorry.”

His cheerful smile belied his apology. 

“You’ll make it up to me.”

Armitage pulled Poe’s flight suit open to mid-chest, then slipped his fingers inside both suit and undershirt, pressing his hand all along Poe’s clavicle up to the tip of his shoulder. 

“I’d like to try the ice idea tonight,” Poe said, tugging Armitage’s shirt out of his pants to rub his bare back.

“I’d like that, too.”

Poe had first proposed it to him at Mirrin Prime, a recommendation from one of his friends. Stroking a sliver of ice down their partner’s skin, and breathing onto the trail of cool water. They’d never gotten around to it. 

“I wish we could do it right now,” Armitage said.

He played with a soft curl at Poe’s nape, twirling it around his fingers. 

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait. You have a post to get back to, admiral.”

Poe curled his fingers into Armitage’s back, before withdrawing his hands. Armitage frowned in a playful pout.

“Mmm. Pity.”

He kissed Poe’s cheek before doing up his suit. 

“There is one service I require from you before you leave, commander,” Armitage said, tucking his shirt into his pants.

“Oh? What’s that, sir?”

Armitage pulled out a comb from his pocket and held it up. Poe snorted softly when he saw it.

“You messed it up.” Armitage sat in the desk chair. “So you should be the one to fix it.”

Poe tilted his head.

“I can’t argue with that.”

He took the comb and stood behind Armitage. Placing his left hand gently above Armitage’s ear, Poe slid the comb through his hair, his movements as slow as he could make them. Every once in a while, the comb would tug on a knot. Poe apologized, rubbing on the affected area.

“You know,” he said, growing earnest. “I am really touched by this. It means a lot to me. I never thought I’d get a ship named after me, much less Star Destroyer. It’s kinda surreal.”

“You were a key member in its re-appropriation. You deserve the honors. And I can’t think of a name I’d rather give it.”

“Admiral Hux, commander of the _Dameron_.” Poe’s smile shone in his joyous syllables. “I love the sound of that. The First Order is going to be horrified when they find out.”

Armitage snorted. Whoever told Snoke and Ren would find themselves gasping for breath the instant the words came out of their mouth. Armitage’s merriment suddenly withered as he reached reflexively for his throat. 

“Treacherous general names stolen Star Destroyer after rebel scum lover,” he said out before Poe could notice anything wrong. “If only they had uncensored news reports, that would be the headline.”

“I like it. Let’s run it. Make it a meme all over the Holonet.”

“I’m not sure that Organa would approve.”

“She’d let it slide. We just got a Star Destroyer. If that doesn’t entitle us to catch a break, what does?”

“Fair point.”

“I hope she doesn’t tell my dad before I get a chance to. It’s his name, too.”

The elder Dameron had reacted to Poe and Armitage standing hand in hand before him with a swallowed sigh and a resigned expression that mourned, “I guess there’s nothing for it.”

“Do you think he’ll be more gratified or horrified?”

“Horrified? Because it’s a Star Destroyer? Granted, not his favorite type of ship. But he was all for the plan.” 

“He said that it wasn’t the worst plan he’d ever heard.”

“Never mind that. We pulled it off. Yeah, looking up at a Star Destroyer every day is going to take some getting used to, not just for him, but it’s ours now. That should make it easier. Maybe we can paint it.”

“Have you seen the size of this vessel? We can’t afford that much paint. We already have to paint the TIEs.”

Black TIEs on both sides of the battlefield would bring everyone to a standstill of confusion. 

“Alright, no painting. I know you want to keep it your favorite color, anyway.”

After a moment, Poe’s hands stilled on his hair. He pressed Armitage’s shoulders, leaning into him from behind. Truthfully, he’d completed his task a while ago, but Armitage hadn’t wished for the soothing stroking to end, so he hadn’t said anything. Armitage shut his eyes, enjoying the simple comfort of his presence. It was with great reluctance that he asked,

“All done?”

Poe squeezed his shoulders.

“Yeah.”

The syllable got caught at the edge of a yawn. 

“You should take a nap,” Armitage said.

He stood up, fighting a yawn of his own. Poe rubbed his face, scratching at his eyes.

“Nah, there’s too much to do. There’s inventories to make and repairs. I’m not the brilliant engineering mind that you are, but I can manage something. I’d like to get my mission report out of the way. And, uh…” He looked down and crossed his arms, the comb clenched in his right hand. His face pinched as sadness washed over his face. “Not everyone has someone to write to, but some did.”

Armitage took the comb out of his hand, wishing that he could remove Poe’s pain just as easily. He wrapped up Poe in a hug. Poe sank gratefully into his chest, burying his face in his shirt. 

“Would you like me to help you write them?” Armitage offered.

Poe gripped his back.

“Have you ever written a condolence letter before?”

Such letters were of the lowest priority in the First Order, a task given to officers who had little better to do. As the son of a general and the protégé of an admiral, Armitage had never been requested to write one. 

“No, I haven’t,” he said.

“Do they even write them in the First Order?”

Irritation cut through Poe’s voice. Armitage’s hands stiffened reflexively. Poe didn’t mean it as a slight against him. He was merely tired and sad, his emotions too close to the surface to filter out. Yet Armitage’s reply still sounded small and apologetic.

“They do,” he said. “But they’re not as personal as I’m sure you make them.”

“I didn’t think so.”

A thought occurred to Armitage, memory jarred by Poe’s grief for his deceased crewmates and his own current awkwardness. In the First Order, it would never have occurred to him to do such a charitable thing, but he had the feeling that it would look bad if he didn’t visit the injured members of his own unit in the medbay. He had already inquired as to their health, but he needed to do more, didn’t he? But what would he say? Simply ask how they were doing, like with Cagney in the corridor, then move on? That didn’t feel sufficient, especially since he no longer had the excuse of time pressure. 

“I know you have a lot to do,” he said, “but may I ask a favor?”

Poe raised his head.

“Sure.”

“I have yet to stop by the medbay and see the injured. That’s another thing I’m afraid I’ve never done before. I’m not sure what to say to them other than to ask how they are.”

“That and praising them for doing a good job is all you really need to do. Do you want me to come with you? I already went, but…”

Of course he had. Because Poe was kind and decent and just the sort of person they’d much rather see instead of dour faced Hux. 

“Please,” Armitage said. “I don’t see how they could possibly mind seeing you again.”

“Okay. But you’re taking the lead. No hiding behind me and letting me do all the talking.”

“I wouldn’t hide behind you.”

Though it’d be so much easier if he could. But how could he establish any authority if he cowered behind a commander (and his boyfriend), because he didn’t know how to speak to a bunch of injured soldiers? 

There were several medbays on the _Dameron_ (Armitage grinned internally whenever he thought of the name). The wounded had all been placed in the one closest to the main hangar. A couple had already returned to active duty, their injuries minor enough that a simple bacta bandage provided sufficient relief. Which meant that Armitage would have to search for them individually. Not only that, he had to seek out everyone and give accolades where they were due. And even where it wasn’t due. He had never seen anyone get a verbal commendation from an admiral simply for doing their jobs adequately. 

“I suppose you could gather everyone together and give a little speech,” Poe said. “But it’s a lot better if you do it one on one. You don’t have to, though. This heist won you plenty of points. But you did say you want to give a good impression, and this is a great way to do that.” 

Yes, he thought sourly. He had said that, hadn’t he? 

Most of the soldiers tried to hide their surprise when Armitage approached them and inquired after their health. None of them succeeded, especially when Armitage praised their performance. They kept glancing at Poe, who, just like he’d warned, stood back and made it impossible for Armitage to share the task with him, for Poe always walked off to speak to someone else. Then, when Armitage excused himself and moved on to that person, with a smile as pleasant yet professional as he could muster (he should have practiced in the mirror first), Poe said good-bye and left, making sure that they never spoke to the same person simultaneously. And all before Finn’s watchful gaze, for he had also stopped by to see how everyone was doing, because Armitage was surrounded by bleeding hearts who insisted on holding each other’s hands constantly. 

The instant he thought that, a pang of guilt stung his stomach. He glanced at Poe, who spoke to Cagney the next cot over as if they were old friends. Armitage had never meant to insult him, even indirectly. Finn’s presence discomfited him, that was all. Made him think things that he didn’t mean. 

By the time they left the medbay, a tension headache pummeled behind Armitage’s eyes, and he would have paid an obscene amount of money just to be allowed to lie down and sleep for a whole day straight. And he still had two, injured soldiers left to go. 

He called the bridge, asking if they required his presence, pleading silently that some problem had popped up that they’d been too irresponsible to mention. But no. Everything was running smoothly, and there wasn’t a single thing that couldn’t wait until he’d smiled and chitchatted with every single, still-living person he’d brought aboard this ship, because that would look even better. And the pilots, too. They’d been crucial to the heist’s success, so shouldn’t he thank them, too? Surely, even in the Resistance, he should be allowed to delegate this task to others more appropriate for it. Poe, for instance. Or Jess and Snap. It was much easier to speak to them. He even enjoyed it, a realization that he was still growing accustomed to. Iolo and Karé still hadn’t clicked with him, as it were, but it wasn’t an onerous task to interact with them. But speaking to every person on this ship after being awake for eighteen hours, being compared to his shit of a father by a man who made him feel uncomfortable in ways that shamed him, having to apologize to that man, and stealing a Star Destroyer right from under the First Order’s nose? He couldn’t stand it. 

“I’ll ask the captains to relay my sentiments,” Armitage told Poe after pulling him aside in a deserted corridor. “Surely that can be enough for now?”

Poe took pity on him, noticing his exhaustion. He squeezed Armitage’s hand.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Sorry if I’ve been pushing you too much. I just… It’s good. You going around talking to everyone. Letting them know that you appreciate their contributions. Or pretending that you do.”

Armitage looked away for a second, ashamed once again not to be able to live up to Poe’s expectations. 

“I do,” he said. “I’m not taking them for granted, I promise.”

“But you used to. I get it. New army, new standards. It’s going to take you a while to get up to speed.”

“Poe, I’m never going to be the warm and charming leader that you are. I’m trying to do better, but I don’t want you holding out for something I can’t give.”

Poe tilted his head down, looking up at Armitage through narrowed eyes that shone with amusement.

“You think I want warm and charming? You realize I’m with you, right? Murder resting face. Cold smile even when you’re happy. Can’t socialize for an hour without needing to spend two alone.”

So Poe had noticed that last part. At least he wasn’t calling him out on it, not that Poe would.

Wait. 

“My happy smile looks cold?”

“Not all the time. When we’re cuddling, it softens up. But yeah, a bit. When we first met, I thought you were trying to look sexy, and not quite getting it. It was very attractive, but a little shark-like. Then I realized that’s just how you smile.”

“Like a shark? That’s not what I was going for at all.”

He smiled ruthlessly often enough, but he really had been aiming for friendly and approachable.

“I know, honey.” Poe kissed his hand, lips grazing his knuckles. “Don’t worry, everyone knows that you’re not being cold just because you look it. Alright, I know that you sometimes are, probably more when I’m not in the room. I’m not deluded about you. Who you were… You can’t change your entire personality. I would never ask you to. It’s just your actions that interest me.”

“I am trying.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it, right now. And trying works. You don’t even have to pretend to like Snap and Jess anymore.”

“I do enjoy their company. And that of several of the engineers. Not at all of them, though.”

Poe leaned in close, whispering, “Is it Stevens?”

Armitage rolled his eyes at the mention of the insufferable, little man.

“That blowhard thinks he knows everything when he rarely does. I’m amazed that you employ him at all.”

“Well, beggars can’t be choosers. We could hardly get any recruits before war officially broke out. And he is a wizard at fixing transmissions.”

“The only thing he’s good at. I’m civil to him, but I’ll certainly never pretend to like him.”

“Not a problem. You can’t like everyone. But forget him. You’re doing great. No need to be charming. To be honest, by this point, people would be weirded out if you suddenly started acting like me.”

Poe slipped his arms under Armitage’s jacket and stepped on his tiptoes, kissing Armitage’s cheek.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” he continued. “I have complete confidence in you.”

```````````````````````````

When Armitage returned to the bridge, he made sure to thank his crew for their good work. He didn’t even have to force his gratitude. He was genuinely appreciative to them for helping him take the bridge, as well as being quick studies of the unfamiliar system. They had learned plenty on their own while he’d been away and none of them appeared to dislike him. Quite the opposite, surprisingly. Naming the ship after Poe must have done the trick. The warmth of pride bloomed inside him as he surveyed his new bridge and its crew. Not all of them would be staying on a permanent basis. By necessity, several Resistance personnel rotated constantly, but he wouldn’t mind seeing them all stay. In fact, he’d prefer that. He had already performed a full assessment of the Resistance’s roster, and these were some of the best qualified that weren’t already earmarked for the other cruisers. He would require some additions, but he would request all of them to stay. Yes. The decision was made. 

When they arrived at D’Qar, they brought the ship right beside the base so that Solo only had to fly the limping _Falcon_ a few meters into the base’s hangar. Armitage assured him that they were more than capable of fixing it on the _Dameron_ , but being on Star Destroyers for too long made Solo “twitchy”. Nor was he the only one uncomfortable with their prize. When Armitage disembarked, several people were frowning up at the _Dameron_ (which he’d left orbiting the planet) with a concerning mix of awe and trepidation. 

__Armitage swallowed down a burst of annoyance. Hadn’t they been so enthusiastic about stealing a Star Destroyer from the First Order? Why weren’t they all celebrating? Didn’t the Rebellion used to have loud parties with drinking and music after their victories, or was that just a myth? He’d assumed they’d had one after the destruction of Starkiller Base. Many were cheerful now, glasses of wine that they’d been saving for just such a special occasion in their hands, raining insults upon the First Order, imagining the rage on Snoke’s face when his underlings told him the embarrassing news. Several who had still regarded Armitage with caution before he left now looked at him approvingly. The expression on Kes Dameron’s face (Lieutenant Dameron now) didn’t quite reach that sentiment, but it harbored less doubt and more cautious optimism. Armitage suspected that he thought the choice of name for the ship was to ingratiate himself with Poe, but Armitage knew better than to comment. He’d take any crumbs that Dameron was willing to throw his way._ _

__Poe and he each took exactly one glass of wine, already so exhausted that just the short infusion of alcohol might render them unconscious on the nearest, available surface. But there was no music or dancing. Not that Armitage had wanted music or dancing. He’d never danced before. Why would he start now? Did Poe even dance? It had never come up._ _

__Then he kicked himself for being such a self-involved fool. The woman who’d berated him at the memorial stood among the few non-celebrants. She hugged herself, her arms tight, face torn between disquiet and anger. Armitage kept his distance._ _

__Of course. That’s why there was no music. Resistance prize or not, to them, a Star Destroyer was precisely that. A destroyer, the harbinger of death. Playing merry tunes would disrespect their pain just like Armitage had unconsciously done by tracing those names on the memorial stone._ _

__He felt it again. That sickening, incomprehensible taste of shame. He turned away toward Poe and his-- their friends, swallowing it down, but the acrid sting lingered on his tongue._ _


	30. Chapter 30

He and Poe weren’t able to engage in the private celebration that they had been hoping for. At the limit of exhaustion, they merely threw off their boots, stripped down to their pants, and collapsed into bed. Their only concession to their need to touch was Poe gathering him up in a snug spoon, their fingers threading together on Armitage’s chest. 

Sleep came quickly, yet serenity soon abandoned his unconscious mind. Distorted flashes of his days subjugating the Otomok system. A coronel band encircling his left arm. Fiery explosions as his newest weapon designs decimated entire villages. Standing at the bridge of the _Finalizer_ , a smirk venomous on his lips as he savored the screams, too far to hear down on the planet shaking at his feet, yet they rang in his ears. 

His stomach cramped, that tender, unbearable emotion curdling his insides, the last vestiges of that frightened boy who wasn’t good for anything but crying and begging to be spared his father’s fists, who needed to be held by his mother at night just to be able to sleep at all. 

He turned, and the bridge became the planet’s surface. A row of natives were arrayed before him, strapped to stakes. Disobedient wretches too good to work the mines. Armitage sneered at the filth encrusted on their skin, their moldy rags, the defiance gleaming in their eyes until the very end even as the stormtroopers raised their blaster rifles, waiting only for his order.

“Fire,” he shouted.

Pain ripped through his midsection. He doubled over, gasping, staring in horror. The faces had shifted. Now it was Jess and Snap jerking as blaster shots tore through their chests. Karé. Iolo. Larte. Nuat from engineering, who’d figured out how to work Armitage’s new design for an A-wing thuster before anyone else. Barell, who always brought everyone snacks right as their stomachs began growling after five hours working non-stop. 

Armitage touched his face. Tears wet his fingers. He’d fallen to his knees on a bed of bones, sharp, broken pieces piercing through skin.

“Armitage Hux.”

Armitage turned towards the harsh voice. The landscape shifted again. Now he crouched before a forest, tropical trees shrieking with the territorial calls of monkeys and large, multi-colored birds. His hands were bound behind him, cord so tight that it cut him to the bone. Blood wet his skin. A pair of brown boots moved into his vision, squelching in the wet grass. Resistance issue.

“For your crimes against the galaxy, your sentence is death.”

Armitage looked up, sobbing, begging at Poe’s remorseless face. Not an ounce of the man who had once loved him remained, affection and forgiveness twisted into rage and hatred. 

“Please,” Armitage begged. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Poe hit him, throwing him to the ground. Mud splashed into Armitage’s mouth, choking him. Poe grabbed him, tossing him onto his front. He pushed him down, boot crushing Armitage’s spine, shoving his face into the mud. Armitage gasped for air, turning his head to the side only to be slashed by a blade of grass. 

A harsh hum split the air. Armitage screamed. The lightsaber’s blade cut the ground beside his head, inching closer. He squirmed, trying to push off Poe, but his boot pressed him further into the ground. He was trapped. The lightsaber was now the only sound, Armitage’s mouth opening into nothing, his vocal cords useless, his struggles, his pleas, his shame all rendered worthless as the blade cut through his neck.

He jerked awake, gasping, soaked in sweat. He grabbed blindly, finding only the blanket. Poe had rolled onto his back, away from him. 

No. Not away. They shifted while they slept. That was all. It didn’t mean anything. They didn’t always sleep pressed to each other. Poe would never do this to him. He’d never kill him. He’d never be so cruel as him. He’d never… 

He’d never…

Armitage was shaking. Slowly, softly, Armitage crept to the end of the bed and climbed off. Mustn’t disturb Poe. He needed sleep. Armitage wouldn’t be so selfish as to beg for comfort now. He tiptoed to the bathroom, shut the door, and collapsed onto the floor. He hugged his legs to his chest, burying his face in his knees. The shudders wouldn’t stop. Tears wet his cheeks, a keening ripping deep inside his throat. He covered his mouth, muffling it. 

Don’t let Poe hear. Poe shouldn’t have to bear the burden of his guilt. How had Poe been able to forgive him? How could he consider Armitage worthy of such mercy? Any day now, any moment, he’d leave, he’d realize that touching a murderer disgusted him, wondering how he could have ever abased himself like this. Armitage wouldn’t even beg to him to stay. He’d accept Poe’s derision as his due punishment. He deserved scorn, not pity. Poe praised him for trying to be better, but was that truly enough? It could never wipe away his remorseless indifference, his sick fascination when he’d ordered those kids to beat each other, his limitless willingness to stamp down any shiver of conscience or repugnance for the sake of gaining ultimate power. 

````````````````````

The alarm chrono blared. The mattress bounced under Armitage, followed by the noise’s swift silencing as Poe slapped it off. Armitage opened bleary eyes. His head ached, feeling like it was stuffed with cotton balls, his body begging for more sleep. Poe pressed against him, kissing his shoulder.

“Good morning,” he said, much more cheerful than he had any right to be at this hour.

He stroked Armitage’s left arm, fingers dancing softly over his skin, playful. Armitage forced his eyes open, his moroseness from his mid-night panic attack still clenched inside his chest like a piece of doonium. Poe’s bright smile instantly fell.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, touching Armitage’s face.

Armitage shook his head. He grabbed Poe’s hand, kissing his palm, and smiled for his sake.

“Nothing. I need more sleep. I had a nightmare. But it’s faded now.”

That was only a partial lie. Poe nodded, understanding in his eyes. God, did he look beautiful in the morning, eyes still soft with sleep, an adorable crease on his cheek from the pillowcase, curls rumpled.

“Looking at you helps,” Armitage said, winding one of those precious curls around his finger.

“Looking at you helps me, too.”

Poe stroked Armitage’s hair off his forehead and behind his ear, lingering on the shell and tugging slightly at his earlobe. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Poe said, rubbing circles along Armitage’s neck. “I don’t think I tell you that enough.”

“You certainly do not. I demand daily compliments from now on.” 

Armitage rubbed Poe’s side, lightly caressing from waist to shoulder, and down again. His depression didn’t sting as harshly now.

“When I first saw you at the ace meeting,” Poe said, “I thought, please let him be into guys.”

“Despite my cold smile?”

“I told you, it works for me. And it’s not cold now. Are you feeling better?”

Armitage nodded. 

“I’m glad.”

The knot in his chest had come undone, fading into shadow, chased away by Poe’s caresses and the undeniable love in his eyes. How could he have doubted Poe for a second? He knew every atrocity Armitage had committed. He’d already shoved Armitage away, expressed his disgust, yet he’d come back to him, rubbing his back with the concerned tenderness of unconditional acceptance and affection. Why had Armitage given so much credence to his mind’s cruel trap, succumbing to such vile insecurity? Poe wanted to be with him, all of him, as long as Armitage kept trying, kept working to become someone his mother could be proud of.

A sliver of fear crept back inside Armitage’s gut. What if he couldn’t? What if showing kindness out of obligation and only the occasional shudder of guilt was the most good that he could achieve? Would his actions be enough if his spirit wasn’t truly aligned with them? 

Armitage placed his hand over Poe’s heart, a now familiar gesture of comfort. Poe reciprocated, laying his hand over Armitage’s own. Poe had given this heart to him, but not the ring that shone louder now in its absence from Poe’s neck, the proof that Poe’s certainty remained far from absolute. Poe was still testing the waters, still mindful that an unseen rock in his path might make him stumble and withdraw from Armitage. 

_Just keep doing what you’re doing_ , Poe had said. 

Armitage chanted it like a mantra in his mind. He’d keep doing everything right. Any misstep could be fatal. He’d keep his head down, continue pretending to be a better person than he ever could be, and earn the right to wear Poe’s ring.


	31. Chapter 31

Poe took every possible opportunity to work the ship’s name into conversation as they ate breakfast with their friends until everyone, excepting Armitage, of course, was sick of hearing it. They got back at him by teasing him of benefiting from favoritism and that “it’s only because you’re snuggling up to the admiral”. As amusing as it was, Armitage was glad to drag Poe away when they finished breakfast, although he was certain that the teasing would continue when the rest joined them on the _Dameron_ in a few hours. Armitage, Poe, and BB-8 were going now, along with the rest of high command, and the rest of Armitage’s new crew. Those who had already served under him in the bridge had remained in the ship overnight. 

Armitage would be doing the same from now on. It had been quick work to pack up one of his bags this morning, too harried to deal with the pang of nostalgia as he tugged his shirts from beside Poe’s. It wasn’t like Poe wouldn’t be joining him aboard the ship. They’d discussed it before the heist. As the Resistance’s finest pilot, Poe needed to be wherever he was needed, so he would keep his old room, just like he had his own quarters on the _Raddus_ , but he would mainly be sleeping on the _Dameron_. There might have been stressful times when they chaffed in the room’s cramped quarters, unable to escape the other when they needed to be alone without fleeing into a common area, as well as suffering other irritants such as Poe’s refusal to store clothes properly or his inability to shave without dripping cream all over the sink. Poe, in turn, complained of Armitage’s “obsession” with neatness (which was simply good, military practice), and a supposed need to be told to do something “five times”, a blatant exaggeration. 

Hopefully, some of that would cease to be a problem from now on. Poe would have his own quarters, which he could cover in discarded clothes to his heart’s content. The fact that Poe wouldn’t actually be utilizing his bed was irrelevant. The _Dameron’s_ current crew roster was so meager that even the ensigns got their own rooms. 

Poe had offered to pack the rest of their things when he returned to the base that afternoon, leaving only a change of clothes each just in case. Armitage was too busy with, well, everything, to go back that day. He needed to ensure that the rest of the crew he’d selected was truly up to the task, give his colleagues a tour of the ship, finish inspecting it, give a more thorough briefing of the fresh, First Order secrets BB-8 had discovered in the computer, host another strategy meeting, and supervise the testing of the TIE fighters aboard, as well as several other minutiae. Poe would at least give him a head start by inspecting the flight decks and hangars himself. Finn would also do his own share, a fact that Armitage was less enthusiastic about, but he didn’t have the luxury of never working with the man again. 

By mid-morning, he was already on his second cup of tea to counteract his sleep-deprived headache. A couple of hours earlier, the headache had lifted and the meetings had finished. Their friends, as well as a few other pilots, also arrived to test the TIE fighters. They had already ascertained the day before that they were in good, working condition (as they should, being brand new models of advanced engineering), but a test flight was still required. Technically, Armitage’s presence was not, but it had been a grueling morning, and he needed some relaxation. 

As they flew, it was swiftly provided in the form of Snap suggesting the most diverting notion to him. That they paint Poe’s face at the _Dameron’s_ prow.

“Like a figurehead on an ancient ship,” Snap continued. “Except, I think a statute might be a little tacky.”

“And a painting isn’t?” Poe asked, horrified. “Not happening.”

“He wasn’t asking you, Poe,” Jess said. “Admiral, what do you think?”

“Admiral,” Poe said, “I strongly advise you to ignore everything they have to say.”

“Without even considering it? That’s not the sort of leader I am.” Anymore. “What size were you envisioning, Snap?”

“Nothing too big. Maybe five, ten meters.”

“That’s huge!” Poe protested.

“I’m not sure if it should be full body or just his head.”

“A floating head would look weird,” Iolo said. 

“But it’d be hilarious,” Karé added.

The ludicrous conversation carried on for a while, making Armitage chuckle and Poe sputter in playful indignation. What might the other pilots be thinking of this? Three others were in the air along with them, yet their comlinks remained silent. Out of confusion? Awkwardness, without a doubt. Armitage’s rank alone would likely intimidate them into keeping mum.

“As elated as I would be to share Poe’s charming looks with the world,” Armitage finally said, “I’d much rather not have an angry boyfriend to contend with. So I’m afraid I must reject the proposal.”

Cries of mock disappointment echoed through the cabin. 

“Thank you,” Poe said. “See guys? You never stood a chance.”

Armitage smiled, fantasizing about when he’d have Poe to himself in his new chambers and his new bed. Their bed. But best not dwell on it too much right now. He mustn’t risk getting too distracted and crash this brand new fighter. It had been far too long since the last time he’d had a chance to fly a TIE. When he had first climbed aboard, he’d found himself both disappointed and elated by the twinge of nostalgia he felt for an X-wing, yet soon he was grinning as he zoomed through space, executing a barrel run that he hadn’t quite mastered on an X-wing. He’d done it on an A-wing once, but it felt so much better to do it on a TIE. So much more familiar and instinctual. 

Since the moment that he’d stepped aboard the Star Destroyer, something strained and knotted inside him had come free, lightening his steps, allowing his breathing to become more carefree. One Star Destroyer or another had been home for longer than Arkanis, which was tainted with grief for his mother and his own battered childhood. No other ground was more comforting than the firm, black steel of a Star Destroyer deck, and a TIE was a natural extension of that. His goals and allegiance may have changed, but that warm feeling of home had not. D’Qar Base, the _Raddus_ , the _Anodyne_ , all these Resistance locations, they were extensions of Poe that he’d had to fold himself into, rearranging himself to fit, like an ill-made puzzle piece getting its edges sanded off. Here, on this ship, Armitage finally fit again. Now it was the Resistance that needed to adjust to his space, becoming a true hybrid of First Order engineering and Resistance passion.

Soon, the X-wings and A-wings would return to the _Dameron_ , filling up the fighter ranks, and the TIEs would no longer be night black. His crew wore Resistance uniforms and fought for a democracy that he still side-eyed, but had grown to live with. Bunks were already being decorated with New Republic posters and artwork of Rebellion victories. Older soldiers who had strived and bled in their youth to blast ships just like this out of space were already hard at work at its controls, fighting their own conflicted emotions to accept it as one of their own, a hard won, much overdue slap in the face to the Empire that gave birth to the First Order. 

Armitage had been cautious hearing such sentiments spoken around him. Many, like the woman from the memorial, would never cease to regard him with hostility and resentment. To them, he, like this Star Destroyer, were tools to be used for the sake of defeating the First Order, but never to be trusted completely. To them, he would always be a living presence of the First Order, just another war prize. There was nothing that Armitage could do about that. He wasn’t sure that he should even try to do anything. They would never accept an apology from him. They might even be offended if he made the attempt. Then again, they might hate him even more for not doing so. Not even Poe knew how to advise him. Poe hadn’t mentioned it, but Snap commented to Armitage that some of those who disagreed with him being there had grown cold when they had to interact with Poe. Not unprofessionally, but not with the warmer regard that Poe inspired in people, either. Armitage had seethed with fury upon hearing this, almost swallowing his pride and going to apologize, but what if this only made things worse? He’d been afraid to broach the subject with Poe, who clearly didn’t wish to speak of how loving him was ruining his work relationships. 

Armitage had decided to let it be. Let his actions do the talking. 

`````````````````````````

The colors were wrong. The latest supply run wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow, so Armitage had been compelled to dress his bed in white instead of the verdigris sheets he’d ordered. The white didn’t clash with the blue walls per se, but it wasn’t his preferred color. And he preferred ice blue over this sky blue. As soon as the supply ship arrived tomorrow, he’d order whatever droid or person was available to paint his room. He’d ordered sufficient paint, as well. Jess had said something about counting your eggs before they hatched when he’d commented on preparing for his new quarters two weeks ago, but Armitage liked having everything in order. The room would be set right tomorrow.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t say the same for the living room. The precise shade of teal that he wanted had been backordered, so he would be sofa-less for another week. The chambers had already been furnished with several pieces, except for a sofa. Rank incompetence, is what it was. In any case, the tables and chairs must be replaced as soon as possible. And who kept a painting of the Death Star in their rooms? Had that captain been hoping to suck up to the old guard? Honestly. Starkiller Base would have been far more appropriate and relevant. There was also a painting of a star system he wasn’t familiar with. He didn’t object to that one particularly, but if it was the deceased captain’s homeworld, that was too personal for Armitage to keep. 

He’d just taken them both down when Poe walked through the door, carrying Armitage’s remaining bags. He grimaced at the pictures in Armitage’s hands.

“Yikes,” he said. “Is that normal decoration for the First Order? Death Stars and the like?”

“Some do love to reminisce about the old, Imperial days.” 

Armitage walked past him into the corridor that led to the dining room. On the wall, he opened the hatch for the garbage chute and dumped in the Death Star picture. He held up the other one for Poe to see.

“Do you know where this is?”

Poe shook his head.

“It’s not bad, though. But… keeping it might be a little weird.”

That it would. Down the chute it went. 

“I already left my stuff in my quarters,” Poe said as they returned to the living room. 

“Are you pleased with the furnishings? We can get new ones.”

“Nah, they’re fine.” Poe looked around the room, frowning. “Where’s the couch?”

“No idea. Perhaps the captain disdained comfort like some of the more fanatical types. Or the one they wanted was backordered like mine.”

Poe pet his shoulder. 

“It’ll get here soon. You can just lounge on mine in the meantime.”

Armitage had managed to find an elegant, sapphire blue sofa for Poe in a different room and had it moved over. 

“I’ll make sure to take you up on that offer,” Armitage said, smiling teasingly.

Poe smiled back, but his face grew serious as he surveyed the room, tucking his hands inside his jacket pockets as if unsure what to do with them. 

“What is it?” Armitage asked, putting down the bag he’d picked up.

Poe shook his head.

“Nothing. I’m just still getting used to being here. Seeing you here.”

He met Armitage’s gaze, then looked away just as quickly, a hint of guilt in his eyes. Oh.

“This isn’t the _Finalizer_.” Armitage hated how his tone instantly turned into a plea, even now. “Or the _Absolution_. Or any of my old ships.”

“I know. I’m not suggesting or picturing anything.” Poe raised his hands in reassurance, then instantly grimaced at his own deflection. “Okay, so I am remembering you on the _Finalizer_. But that’s where you told me that you’re leaving the First Order, so it’s not a bad memory. And this doesn’t look anything like your old living room. Not that it’s not fine if you want to do it up like that one. Knock yourself out. It was just, at the moment, it struck me. I’m shacking up with you in a Star Destroyer.”

“Shacking up? Doesn’t that tend to have a sexual connotation?”

Poe grimaced.

“Yeah, I know, but it’s so hard to find something that doesn’t. Sleeping together isn’t about sleeping. Lovers often aren’t in love, they’re just having sex.” 

Armitage stepped in close, slipping his arms around Poe’s waist.

“Moving in together?” he suggested. “Even though we already were living together.”

Poe hugged him back.

“Yeah. That’s as connotation free as we’re going to get. Moving into a Star Destroyer. A Resistance Star Destroyer. Having my face on the prow is the worst idea I’ve ever heard, but I’m totally painting a starbird on this ship.”

Armitage chuckled. 

“And these aren’t a First Order captain’s quarters. Or a First Order general’s.” Poe tapped Armitage’s rank badge. “A Resistance admiral lives here.”

Armitage leaned down.

“And a Resistance commander.”

Poe pressed his forehead to his. 

“That’s right.” 

They stood peacefully for a moment, eyes closed, the only sound that of their joined breaths. 

_See?_ Armitage kicked himself. No need to worry. Poe just had a momentary lapse, that was all. A trick of memory. 

“I brought the ice,” Poe said, smile curling around the teasing words.

Armitage grinned. 

“Give me a moment,” he said, stepping back. “I have a surprise for you.”

Poe’s eyes gleamed with enthusiasm.

“I can’t wait. I’ll go get the ice while you get it ready.”

Poe practically ran out of the room. Grabbing the necessary item from the closet, Armitage stepped into his bedroom to go change. When he heard Poe return, he called to him from the bed.

“In here.”

Poe rushed inside. He paused by the doorway, a delectable smile growing on his face as he stroked Armitage with his gaze. Armitage wore his most eye catching dressing gown. Silver colored silk gathered in elegant pleats at his waist, adorned with onyx black, shawl lapels. He lounged on the bed, leaning on his left elbow, legs stretched out, crossed at the ankle. The hem of the gown hung just high enough to show off his calves, the belt at his waist teasingly loose. He tugged at the fabric on his right shoulder, exposing a bit of collarbone. 

“You approve?” he asked, smiling that same smile from the first time they met, the one that was shark-like yet very attractive.

“Oh, I approve.” Poe approached him, placing his cup of ice on the side table. “I propose that you greet me every night just like this.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Yes, I do.”

Yanking off his boots and socks, Poe climbed atop him. Armitage let himself fall on the pillow, pushing up Poe’s shirt.

“And what about when you arrive at our quarters first? How will you present yourself to me?”

“Well, first.” Poe pulled off his shirt, tossing it aside. “I can already see you’d like this.”

Armitage nodded, tracing that gorgeous chest with gaze and hands.

“You like me in a towel,” Poe said. “Fluffy white, or one of yours? A grey one? Or black? Or blue?”

“Why not a different one each time?”

Poe stroked Armitage’s collarbone. He pushed back the gown, slowly, letting the fabric caress his skin, following this tenderness with the softness of his lips. 

“I can make that work.”

Armitage’s eyes slid shut, momentarily overwhelmed by the intense warmth of his breath. Poe reached for the cup on the table, taking one ice cube. He held it above Armitage’s skin, just close enough that the cold radiating from it gave him goosebumps. 

“Ready?” Poe asked. 

Armitage nodded. He shivered when the ice met his skin, reflexively shrinking away, but he grabbed Poe’s wrist, keeping him on task. Poe drew the cube along the line of Armitage’s shoulder down to the edge of the gown. The cube alone didn’t deliver the most pleasant sensation, but when Poe bent over and breathed on him, cool on the liquid trail and hot at the edges, Armitage jerked up, grabbing his shoulders, tugging at his hair, gasping.

“Again,” he said, voice rough.

“Right away, sir.”

Grinning, Poe grabbed the gown’s lapels, sliding it down his shoulders as he pulled it open so excruciatingly slowly that Armitage almost growled and did it himself. Poe laid a hand over Armitage’s heart, then placed the cube right beneath his throat. He traced a liquid line down the center of his chest to his belly button. He shifted down the mattress, jostling Armitage’s legs, to blow on Armitage’s stomach, hand still held over Armitage’s heart. It pounded into his hand, pulse quickening as Poe breathed up his chest, bracing his other arm on Armitage’s left side, pressing it against his ribs. Armitage grabbed his wrists, fingers digging in, teeth clenching on a moan as Poe reached his clavicle, and swiped the ice on the side of his neck, blowing there, too. Armitage grabbed him, pulling him down to nuzzle his neck, sucking with greedy lips, fingers curling on his back, nails scratching. He kissed up Poe’s jaw, nibbling his ear, hands tangling in his hair.

His lower body stirred. He groaned into Poe’s shoulder, pulling him closer.

“It’s happening again,” he mumbled.

Poe stroked his hair.

“Ignore it. It’ll go away.”

Armitage didn’t want to stop touching Poe, no matter what grief and discomfort his body threw at him. Poe stretched out beside him. They turned onto their sides, Armitage careful to angle his lower body away so that Poe wouldn’t touch _that_. Armitage shrugged his left sleeve down to his elbow, offering his upper arm. Poe took his meaning and placed the cube on the crook of his elbow, drawing it up his arm. Armitage fought not to squirm as the discomfort increased even as his pleasure also did at the delightful feel of Poe’s breath.

“We can take a break, you know,” Poe suggested.

He nuzzled Armitage’s shoulder, gentle, already lowering his fervor for Armitage’s sake. Armitage cursed a bloody stream in his head. Tugging Poe’s head up, he kissed his cheek apologetically.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

His internal swearing continued as he forced himself to withdraw from Poe and rush to the bathroom. He took off his gown and shorts and looked at that wretched, treacherous body part he wanted nothing to do with right now. He stepped into the shower stall and shut the sliding door. 

God fucking damnit.

 _Stop hesitating!_ he shouted at himself as he stood still. Poe was waiting outside. He had to be quick.

``````````````````````````````````

About fifteen minutes later, Armitage left the refresher, holding his gown tightly closed over his legs. He’d had to shower, but he hadn’t thought to bring a change of underwear in with him. Poe was absent from the bed, a piece of paper in his place.

 _I’ll be back_ , it said. _Had to go take care of the same thing._

Armitage groaned. Stupid, disobedient bodies. 

By the time that Poe retuned, what remained of the ice cubes were floating in an inch of water. Armitage lounged in the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He turned at the sound of Poe’s footsteps. Poe was drying his hair with towel. White and fluffy, just like the one wrapped around his waist. Armitage smiled, instantly feeling better.

“Yeah, I thought you’d like this,” Poe said, smiling back. “I tried to not get my hair wet in the shower, but I couldn’t find a cap, so some of it got damp.”

“I’ll give you some.”

“Thanks.”

Poe’s eyes drooped closed. Armitage stood up, going to him and pulling him close. Poe lowered the towel, hugging him back.

“Are you sleepy?” Armitage asked. 

“I always feel sleepy after that. It’ll go away. Don’t mind me.”

Armitage had also experienced some lethargy in the shower before he slapped it away by throwing water on his face. 

“Do you want to continue?” Armitage asked.

“Yes. Your turn now.” Poe looked up at him, smiling teasingly. “How do you want me?”

Armitage pressed his fingertips into Poe’s back, rubbing firmly up his ribs.

“On your front. I want to do your back.”

After a quick jaunt to the refresher to hang up his towel, Poe swiftly obliged, lying down on his stomach. Armitage grabbed a sliver of ice and kneeled next to him. He stroked Poe’s back, smiling at the softness of his skin. He began on Poe’s right shoulder blade, breathing all along the arch. Poe flexed the bone, leaning up onto Armitage’s mouth. Armitage continued on the other shoulder, then down his spine, then along every rib on his right side. He scratched Poe lightly with his nails as he gusted his breath over the trail of icy water, drawing delicious gasps from Poe. Poe squirmed, arms trembling beside his head, clutching the pillow. Armitage finished each trail with a kiss, nuzzling Poe with his nose, delighting in the mix of cold and warmth in Poe’s flesh. 

At one point, Poe turned over and grabbed him, pushing him onto the bed to kiss every inch of his face and chest. Armitage laughed, holding him close.

````````````````````````

The painting of Arkanis fit perfectly in its new frame. Armitage debated for an endless while over the perfect spot to display it, for he didn’t wish to repeat the location it had borne on the _Finalizer_. So he couldn’t place it at the center of the opposite wall from the corridor, where it would look its finest. The parallel wall would do well enough, yet he couldn’t cease frowning at it as he stepped back to admire the artwork, then passed by it casually as he would do on a regular day. Poe accompanied him patiently, never complaining as Armitage repeatedly removed the frame from a wall and placed it somewhere else, only to repeat the exercise for the hundredth time.

“How about in the bedroom?” Poe finally suggested.

Armitage frowned at him. The bedroom? But no one would be able to view it there, only Poe and himself. He had never deliberately shown off his connection to his homeworld, save for his unfortunate, yet convenient, descendance from its former academy’s commandant, yet the picture’s prominent position in his living room had always made it clear that he had once been proud to call himself an Arkanian, even though the First Order didn’t much approve of such individualism. In the Resistance, this connection felt even more important. Arkanis was now a member state of the Republic, and his citizenship as a native son had been recognized last week as a reward for his actions against the First Order. 

And yet, did it truly matter if anyone else ever saw the painting? Armitage had purchased it to assuage his own grief, not anyone else’s, a private emotion he had sought to withhold by displaying it in public. In the confidentiality of the bedroom, shared only between himself and Poe, it would hold a much more fragile feel of intimacy. 

Armitage took the painting to the bedroom. A wide viewport opened to the right of the bed, followed at the bend by a long stretch of wall, currently unadorned. Poe moved about a meter to the left of the bed.

“How about here?” he asked. “You could see it from the bed when you wake up, but it’s not centered on it.”

Armitage sat down on the bed, analyzing where Poe stood. Activating the magnetized back of the frame, he placed it on the wall where Poe had been a moment before, then returned to the bed, lying down. Yes, this was a good vantage point. He stood, watching the painting as he passed by on his way to the door, then re-entered the room, glancing at it only from his peripheral vision. Poe sat down on the bed, watching him silently, so patient despite Armitage’s endless prevarication. As soon as Armitage had explained the artwork’s significance, that always comforting understanding had grown on Poe’s face. Once more, Armitage found himself searching for the missing ring around Poe’s neck, regretting guilting him into removing it. And yet, selfish cad that he was, his tongue still stuck to the roof of his mouth when he considered asking Poe to wear it again. 

Armitage sat down beside Poe, leaning into him. Just two meters away, a brilliant, Arkanian sunset shone down on them. Armitage didn’t need to have visited that particular valley to feel the cool breeze in his hair, and the brisk chill of a drizzle on his skin. He put his arm around Poe, who returned his embrace.

“Let’s go after this is over,” Poe said. “That is, if you want to go back.”

Armitage remembered the scent of paprika and garlic, and the popping bubbles of a boiling stew. His mother’s vibrant smile and beautiful, red hair, so much more luminous than his own blander shade could ever be. Ankle deep puddles in that sad, cramped cemetery, not worthy of the likes of someone as good and pure as her. 

“I do,” Armitage said. A knot gripped his throat. He turned to Poe, ignoring the tears clinging to his eyelashes. “I’d also like to go to Yavin 4.”

Poe stroked his cheek, smiling with a tender mix of sorrow and gladness.

“Yeah, definitely. I’ll introduce you to mom.”

“And I’ll introduce you to mine. She would have loved you. You’re exactly her sort of person.”

“I guess that’s why I love her son so much. Mom would have loved you, too.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. She would have come around faster than dad. I know it.”

Armitage allowed himself to drop atop Poe, nuzzling his face, cheeks pressed together, breathing in each other’s warmth. 

“The position of the painting is perfect,” Armitage said, voice raspy.

“I’m happy you like it.”

Their hands twined on their laps.


	32. Chapter 32

_Seventeen months later_

The city below them lied in flames, a thick plume of smoke and ash shooting through the atmosphere, enveloping it in a black pall. The city itself had been completely obliterated, the _Absolution’s_ turbolasers blasting it into oblivion half a second before the _Dameron’s_ own overwhelmed the _Absolution’s_ shield array and cut through its hull. Fire burned bright within the cracks in its frame as explosions ricocheted along its spine, blasting it to pieces, along with most of the TIE fighters and escape pods that had managed to flee. Armitage had recalled his own fighters right before the hit. Poe and Jess were safe in the main hangar, likely viewing the destruction through the magnetic shield sealing the entrance, just as he regarded it though the bridge’s viewport. Every crew member around him was equally transfixed, their tasks momentarily forgotten as they beheld the broken husk of what had once been General Brendol Hux’s flagship. 

Armitage’s lip curled, dark satisfaction burning hotly inside him. First, he’d decimated his father’s body, then taken his ship for his own, gutting every whiff of him from its insides, and now he’d finished it off in a flash of fire and brimstone. 

Yet he had no time to delight in his victory. The crew’s relieved cheers when their shot hit true had been tempered by the simultaneous destruction on the planet below. Hays Minor of the Otomok System. Nine years ago, Armitage had led the invasion that had subjugated the planet and had established mining facilities to extract ore to build new capital ships. The _Dameron_ contained material taken from here. The high quality kyber crystals that gave their ion cannons their particularly vicious power were notoriously difficult to source, so the Otomok’s system’s supply had been earmarked especially for Repulsor-class Star Destroyers, the dreadnought, and the _Supremacy_. The same ion cannons had just both destroyed one of Hays Minor’s cities and saved the rest of the planet. The irony would sting anyone who realized it. 

“Send scouts down to the planet to report on conditions around the crater,” Armitage ordered Lieutenant Commander Larte, who stood just behind him. “See if there are any survivors.”

“Yes, sir,” they replied, relaying the orders to the relevant parties. 

The entire city was gone, but settlements lied around it, especially in surrounding farmland. It had been confiscated from the native population, but they still worked the land to grow food for the First Order. 

Armitage’s hands flexed at his back. This was the third planet he’d invaded that he’d been forced to visit this week. The war was a chaotic mess, a disaster of destruction on both sides, military and civilian populations suffering alike, yet the last month had shifted the tide in the Republic’s favor just enough to make the First Order lash out in petty revenge. A combined force of Republic and Resistance ships and ground crews had destroyed the First Order’s second largest base after the _Supremacy_. The First Order had been compelled to retreat from many of its colonies in the southwestern stretch of the Outer Rim, yet not before ensuring that the Republic would have little to find. Charred crusts with a few tattered populations had been all that remained of five planets before the Republic could reach them as the _Absolution_ made its rounds. Only here had they arrived in time to keep the entire planet from being decimated. Yet not swiftly enough. 

While the scouts zoomed towards the planet, the _Dameron’s_ tractor beams pulled in wayward escape pods and TIE fighters. The Resistance handed over its prisoners to the Republic if they refused to turn (all except three so far), sparring itself the hassle of feeding and housing them. Every time, at least one demanded to speak to Armitage, to personally spit in the traitor’s face. He never obliged them. They were hardly worth his time. 

The scouts reported a substantial amount of displaced people around the crater, along with the expected injuries and deaths. He ordered transports with medical aid and food sent to the surface. 

What a difference only a couple of years made. Once, he’d been oppressing these people, caring not whether they lived apart from their usefulness as miners or test subjects for his latest weaponry designs. Well, that tiny bit of conscience, once so noisome and inconvenient, had wriggled every once and again, disturbing his sleep, making him hesitate just long enough to for it to become embarrassing. That is, before he stomped it out. Under Poe’s tutelage, that bit had become a raging torrent blindsiding him from one instant to the next. The second before he’d been informed that the _Dameron_ was urgently needed in the Otomok System, he had been calm, focused only on the datapad on his desk and the cup of Tarine tea in his hand. As soon as the name “Otomok” came out of Larte’s mouth, his stomach churned, his fingers clenched painfully on the cup, and the center of his back chilled. 

This cold ache persisted through the hyperspace jump, and the battle, and even right now as he made his way to the hangar, pace swift and apprehensive, his nerves a tatter desperately held together by a shaking hand. Just like with the previous two planets this week. Yet those other times, Republic aid vessels had accompanied them, so they had seen to the locals directly, while the _Dameron_ took her leave. Now, the closest vessel was an hour away, and was too overwhelmed with patients to even consider leaving for another two, so the _Dameron_ would have to take care of the aggrieved populace until then. 

_Good thing we destroyed the Absolution_ , he congratulated himself sarcastically. Else, they would have been obliged to follow it before it wrecked another planet, leaving this one forever. Ideally forever. 

Why did people go on about a conscience being such an amazing thing? It wrecked your concentration, made you want to vomit, robbed you of necessary sleep, and drove you to do the most impractical things. 

Armitage stepped into the starboard hangar. His crew rushed to fill transports with crates of food and medical equipment, all so concerned for the devastated natives, so eager to help. In the midst of it all stood Poe. The sight of him brought an instant swell of comfort, yet the waters were muddied by fear of how he might feel when he saw the First Order’s destruction first hand. Not only today’s, but the one that Armitage had personally perpetrated. Poe had been on edge after the week’s previous two encounters, and more shut down around him, even taciturn. He claimed that it was only the First Order that angered him, not Armitage, but how could his fury at the natives’ distress fail to take into account who had begun their suffering?

Poe directed the relief effort, still in his flight suit, not even taking a moment to change, the urgency of the matter and his need to help too pressing. Might he also be thinking that he needed to remedy Armitage’s mistake? The sense of emergency came nine years too late for Armitage. His buried conscience had been bleeding without his even noticing. The grieving woman from the memorial, she and her sister came from Hays Minor. Armitage had been directly responsible for her family’s death, after all. He deserved every bit of her scorn. 

Poe spotted him loitering by the entrance instead of lending a hand like a Resistance leader would have done, even one of Armitage’s rank. Poe had been promoted to major four months ago, yet that hadn’t altered his personable demeanor and urge to help as much as he could whenever the opportunity arose. Even when he didn’t feel the need to rectify his boyfriend’s atrocities. 

“Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?” Poe asked, pulling him into the corridor.

He gripped his hips stiffly with his hands, his body practically vibrating with upset jitters, jaw clenched in a tense line. Armitage furiously analyzed every aspect of his body language, the nervous coldness freezing his spine again. How much of this anger was directed at him? There was no doubt that some of it was, if not most of it. 

“You should go down to the planet,” Poe said, finally meeting his eyes.

Armitage frowned, startled.

“What? If they see me, they’ll tear me to pieces.”

“I don’t mean actually interact with them. Stay in a transport. Or fly around in a fighter. Just… take a look at the place.” 

“Why?” Armitage lowered his voice. “So I can feel bad about what I did? I already do. You know that.”

Poe rubbed his eyes, his shoulders dropping, suddenly looking twice more tired than he had a moment ago.

“Yeah, I’ve seen it. I believe you. I always have, but…” Poe sighed, the heavy breath dragging in his throat. “You still have your general’s arm band.”

Terror cut through Armitage. 

“I found it in one of your bags when I was packing to move here,” Poe continued, crossing his arms. “I know I saw it last before that on your coat. I was going to ask you about it, but you were so happy to be a Resistance admiral, although you looked so at home in a Star Destroyer. Too at home. I told myself I was being ridiculous. That it was none of my business. You had your reasons for keeping it. But I thought you’d throw it away eventually. It’s still there. Did you forget it was there?”

It tore Armitage up inside to deny the desperate hope in Poe’s eyes. He mutely shook his head. Poe shut his eyes, sighing.

“It’s nothing untoward,” Armitage said. “I’m not reminiscing about my time with the First Order, I swear.”

“Excuse me, Admiral. Major.”

They turned toward the voice behind Poe. One of the pit engineers. 

“Major Dameron,” the engineer continued. “We’re ready to go.”

“I’ll be right there,” Poe said.

The man returned to the hangar. 

“We’re going to have to continue this later,” Poe said, not looking at Armitage. “Go. Don’t go. Maybe I’m wrong to ask you.”

“I’ll go.”

Poe looked into his eyes. 

“Can I take the _Black One_?” Armitage asked.

Poe smiled faintly. It lasted only a second.

“Yeah. Thanks. I’ll send out BB-8 so they can go with you.”

Poe turned away, quickly rounding the corner. He hadn’t touched Armitage once. They never saw each other in private without some caress, no matter how small. But Armitage hadn’t dared reach out with Poe so closed off, and after he mentioned the arm band…

Why the fuck had Armitage kept that thing? 

Because he had worked damn hard for it. Because he’d never felt a greater sense of accomplishment before he became admiral. Because, as much as Poe loathed it, Armitage hadn’t wished to simply sweep the past three decades of his life under the carpet. 

He sorely wished he could now. Poe had promised that he wouldn’t think about Armitage’s past anymore. He’d lied. Or course he had. He’d doubtlessly said it with all the best intentions, but how could he possibly keep to it, especially with Armitage’s past staring him in the face?

BB-8 rolled into the corridor. 

“Come on,” Armitage said, leading them toward the nearest turbolift.

Poe wanted him to feel wretched over his misdeeds? Armitage would do his best to oblige. One crisis of conscience coming right up. 

``````````````````````````

BB-8 was unusually quiet on their way to the planet. Armitage was perfectly happy to let the silence carry on forever. Perhaps he wouldn’t even go to Hays Minor. He could just jump into hyperspace and take a quick jaunt somewhere else. It would be easy enough to order BB-8 not to tell Poe. He was the admiral, after all. He could go or not go wherever he pleased. 

_Your heart rate is elevated_ , BB-8 said.

Was it? Was it, really? What a shocking announcement. Truly mind boggling.

Pain flared through his knuckles from holding the control yoke too tightly. He forced his hand to ease up, sucking a steadying breath deep into his lungs. 

_Can I ask you a question?_

Armitage sighed. BB-8 rarely asked permission. He just asked.

“Sure.”

_Why are we flying to Hays Minor in an X-wing? Poe didn’t say and you’re both upset. What’s going on?_

Armitage huffed, smiling despite himself.

“That’s two questions.”

Their surroundings began to morph from black to a pale blue as they broke through the atmosphere. The cerulean hue intensified as they dove further down, growing murky with ash from the destruction site.

“We’re in an X-wing so that I may assess the situation without showing my face to the locals.”

The ship rattled a bit as they reached the stratosphere, then steadied. Then shook again when they entered the troposphere. Having to feel guilty about a past he’d like everyone to forget, and now a turbulent atmospheric flight while BB-8 questioned him. Armitage had once dreamed of destroying the _Absolution_ and watching its shattered remains burn. Clearly, it had been too much to ask for that he be allowed to enjoy his glorious vindication in peace. 

_Was this Poe’s idea?_ BB-8 asked.

Armitage narrowed his eyes. 

“What do you know about it?”

BB-8 silence screamed volumes.

_Nothing._

“That’s the most unconvincing reply I’ve ever heard.”

_I can’t tell you what he said. I’m not a snitch._

Armitage’s jaw clenched. 

“Fair enough.”

No one could ever accuse BB-8 of being a bad friend. Of course Poe discussed Armitage with him. That’s what friends did, wasn’t it? Confess their doubts about one’s formerly homicidal boyfriend, ask for advice over how to manage the tension between said boyfriend and the decent, non-murderous citizens of the galaxy, and maybe even wonder if the relationship was worth all the bother. 

Armitage’s breath hitched. 

_Are you okay?_

Armitage ignored BB-8’s question. The tower of smoke loomed to their left, rippling in deadly waves of ash. Armitage focused on that instead of on the terror eating him inside. He steered the ship closer to the surface. It didn’t take long to spot one of the transports beside a low building at a safe distance from the crater, yet still so close. People gathered around it, the small vessel a beacon among the debris. Rows of corn and barley stretched out into the horizon, looking far healthier than the natives being tended to by the Damerons. Emaciated and waxy features gazed up at him as he flew low, looking for Poe. Their clothes hung in ragged tatters, filthy from the ash, or maybe they had already been so. Armitage curbed the instinct to wrinkle his nose. These people had worn clean garments when the First Order first arrived here, hadn’t they? Although most of their clothing had been old and worn, this planet never possessing great wealth in money despite the fortune of ore and crystals they harbored beneath their feet. Armitage had thought them foolish and lazy for not exploiting their natural resources to their own advantage. Not that the First Order wouldn’t have come along and taken them eventually, but they could have at least made an effort. 

One of the men was walking with a child, perhaps ten years old. Why was there a child here? They were all to be taken to form the cadet ranks of future stormtroopers. The only way this one could have escaped was by being too sickly for use. Or if their parents had been clever enough to successfully hide them away for nine years. Nine years of being shut away, perhaps under the floorboards of their house, never allowed to go outside for fear that the soldiers in white would take them away. Not until now, when the Resistance had finally come. For the first time in its life, that child could be safe.

Armitage yanked on the control yoke, flying too high to distinguish the figures on the ground. His breath quickened, whistling in his nose, his left hand a clenched fist in his lap. He had ordered that every child on the planet be rounded up and transported away. He had robbed these people of an entire generation, of those they found most precious. Just like his father had done when he took Armitage from his weeping mother. He had done that. Him. 

_Armitage, your breathing is erratic. Do you want me to take control of the ship?_

Armitage shook himself.

“No,” he said. He was fine. “I’m fine.”

He was fine. He forced his focus outward, on the shaking of different atmospheric pressures, the grey sky, and the blessedly people free ground below. The ash tower now lied behind him, shrinking fast despite its massive size. He was supposed to circumvent it, not run away, but Poe wasn’t here to monitor him and Armitage already felt dreadful, so mission accomplished. What lied in this direction, anyway? The weapon testing sites where on the opposite hemisphere to keep them away from the First Order headquarters, now gone in the explosion. What seemed like buildings clustered in the horizon. Low constructions. Houses and the like. A small town, poor and homely. He skirted lower to get a better look as he approached.

And regretted it immediately. People ran beneath the X-wing, faces happy. Cheering. They were cheering him. Because he was in an X-wing, the symbol of the Rebellion and the Republic. He was tricking them into saluting the monster who had reduced them to this wretched state. 

He flew up, this time aiming straight up into the sky. His chest heaved, his gut twisting in painful knots, a leaden heaviness oppressing his heart.

_Armitage, please let me take control._

Armitage’s right hand shook on the control yoke. He drew in a shivering breath. Then another. His vision kept getting blurrier, not clearer. Shit. 

“Okay,” he said, his voice faint. “Take us back to the _Dameron_.”

His hand slid from the control yoke. He slumped in his seat, and shut his eyes, resenting Poe for making him come out here. 

````````````````````

“There.” Armitage shoved the arm band into Poe’s chest the instant that Poe walked into his chambers. “Take it. Burn it. Dump it. Do whatever you want with it. I don’t care.”

Poe gaped at the band, holding it gingerly in one hand, as if scarcely believing that it was touching his skin. 

“Armitage, we have to talk about this,” he said.

“Why?” Armitage paced around the suite in tight, furious circles. “You want me to get rid of it, so I’m getting rid of it. You want me to feel guilty about what I did on Hays Minor, so I feel guilty. I already did, mind you, but that wasn’t good enough for you.”

“This isn’t about me.”

“No? No, of course not. It’s about me not feeling enough shame or enough empathy or enough moral fiber. About me not being good enough for you.”

“I never said anything about you not being good enough for me. I’m with you. Isn’t that proof enough?”

Armitage jerked to a stop, facing Poe.

“Is it?”

Anger clouded Poe’s eyes.

“Don’t,” he said, tone clipped. “Don’t make this about me not giving you the ring yet.”

“It’s been a year and a half.”

“It’s too soon.”

“Your parents got engaged after ten months.”

Poe crushed the band in his hand. He crossed his arms over his chest, shoulders hunched.

“Why did you keep this?” he asked, holding out the sorry piece of cloth. “Why did you hide it away in your bag like a shameful secret if that isn’t what it is?”

Armitage stared at him helplessly. His body sagged, all fight draining out of him like oxygen through a punctured hull. He dropped into the sofa, this place where they had cuddled and watched holovids and discussed anything that came into their heads so many times. He hunched over, rubbing his hands in his lap, mangling his fingers.

“I left everything I’d been for most of my life when I joined the Resistance,” he said softly, so tired that he wanted nothing more than to sink into the cushions. “I didn’t want to throw it all away. I couldn’t bear to erase it all. First Order or not, nepotism or not, as well as other things you don’t approve of, I was proud of what I’d achieved. I couldn’t have everything I’ve done since I was five years old not matter. But you keep pushing. Keep throwing in my face how wrong I was about everything. So most of my life wasn’t only a waste, it was a mistake. One after the other. You say that you don’t see me as a monster, yet you keep insisting that I feel like one.”

Silence fell between them. Poe approached him and sat down on the sofa, beside him, yet at a distance. He turned over the band in his hands, that once proud piece of fabric, the most significant item in Armitage’s life. Now it felt like an excruciating brand. 

“I lied to you when we got back together,” Poe said. “I’m sorry. I said I wouldn’t think about your past anymore, but…” He sucked in a sharp inhale. “I never could stop thinking about it.”

“I figured that out.”

“It’s too much. Too much not to think about. But I couldn’t put that on you. You’d turned your life around. You’d made friends. You were dedicated. Are dedicated. And you feel shame for what you did. You’re not only doing this for me anymore. But this week… Today… I only saw one kid. One. The First Order took all the rest.”

Armitage’s throat clenched. 

“They were all so miserable,” Poe continued, his voice breaking.

Many of those children would have been on the _Absolution_ in the junior cadet quarters. All stormtroopers trained on Star Destroyers. He was sure Poe knew that, that Armitage had told him at some point. But why mention it now? The knowledge couldn’t be far from Poe’s mind as it was, not in light of all this. 

“Were those kids on the ship we destroyed?” Poe asked.

There it was. No avoiding the truth, then.

“Yes.” 

Poe hung his head and covered his face with his hands, the band still clinging to his fingers. Armitage watched him, felt the agony of Poe’s shoulders shaking in his own chest.

“A First Order officer will never surrender their ship,” Armitage said. “The children are seen as expendable, not prioritized in an escape plan. There’s no way we could have saved them even if I could have done things differently.”

“We. You put them there, but that last is a we.”

“I doomed them.”

“Your father got that ball rolling.”

“After all this, you’re trying to shift the blame away from me?”

“I’m trying to figure shit out, okay?” 

Poe raised his head, the band twisting in his hands. His eyes were red and bloodshot, the skin underneath damp. Armitage sucked in a deep breath. It rattled in his lungs.

“Do you want to break up with me?” he asked, forcing the words out of his mouth.

Poe turned to him, mouth open, eyes wide with shock.

“What? No.”

Armitage held his breath, furiously trying to determine whether Poe spoke the truth.

“You can, you know,” Armitage said, every syllable a splinter to his heart. “I won’t fight it if that’s what you want.”

Poe shifted closer to him, dropping the arm band to grab Armitage’s hands with both of his, looking at him so intensely that Armitage almost sobbed.

“No,” Poe repeated, more firmly this time. “I’m not leaving, okay? I don’t want to leave. That’s not what this is. Okay?”

Armitage finally allowed himself to breathe. He clung to Poe’s hands, penitent like he always had been.

“BB-8 told me you had a panic attack,” Poe said. “That they had to bring in the ship.”

Armitage sighed.

“I wouldn’t characterize it as a panic attack.”

“But you couldn’t fly?”

Armitage shook his head. 

“That’s bad enough. I shouldn’t have sent you out there. If you had taken an A-wing, instead…”

“I would have landed until the discomfort passed.”

“Would you?”

Armitage couldn’t make himself meet Poe’s eyes.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Poe said.

Their heads hung so close now. All Armitage had to do was lean forward to press them together. Yet his gaze caught on the arm band by their feet. Extricating his left hand from Poe’s hold, he reached down to pick it up. The fabric felt soft and firm, the embroidery a once comforting exoskeleton. 

He stood up, tugging Poe behind him. Poe didn’t say a word, likely already guessing where Armitage was heading as he stepped through the threshold and down the corridor to the garbage chute. He stopped in front of it. Poe pulled the lid open for him. 

Armitage’s arm wouldn’t rise at first. He held the arm band over the chute, both silent, no more sound than Armitage’s breath and the almost imperceptible hum of the _Dameron’s_ engines under his feet. Poe’s hand tight on his, Armitage let go. 

Down the band went into the dark, out of his life forever. 

Poe closed the lid, and pulled him into a hug. Armitage buried his face in his hair, eyes watering at the comforting scent.

“We’ll figure things out,” Poe said, breath as strangled as Armitage’s own. “We always do.”


	33. Chapter 33

Armitage’s comlink chimed in his pocket. He pulled away from Poe only far away enough to take the call.

“Yes?”

“Sir,” Larte said, “we received word from base. They decrypted a priority communication. The _Fulminatrix_ and an escort of Star Destroyers is headed for the Hosnian System.”

Poe stiffened beside him.

“How many Star Destroyers?”

“We’re not sure, sir. Two or three. They’ll be there in a little over four hours.”

“Recall everyone from Hays Minor and get us on our way as quickly as possible.”

“Already in hand, sir.”

Armitage disconnected the call. He looked at Poe, who seemed just as uneasy.

“They’ve gotten desperate,” Poe said. 

The First Order had attempted to storm the Hosnian System eight months ago, only to be vehemently beaten back. But they hadn’t had possession of a fully operational dreadnought then.

“They don’t need to be desperate with the _Fulminatrix_ in hand. Even with less than a handful of Star Destroyers.”

The rest, the few they had left, would be defending the borders or escorting the _Supremacy_. 

“We’ll get there before they do,” Poe said, filled with certainty. “And the Republic will already be scrambling every ship in the area in their defense. We just need to take them out.”

“The Star Destroyers are doable, but a dreadnought is a far harsher opponent. May I remind you that it’s three times our size?”

“We can take it.”

“Of course we can, but don’t get cocky.”

“Pot. Kettle. Black. Seriously.”

`````````````````````

They were both right, in the end. The joint Republic and Resistance forces took down the dreadnought, and one Star Destroyer, but not before the massive vessel fired four shots with its auto cannons. Two pulverized heavy cruisers that rushed to shield the planet from the onslaught, while two hit true, ripping through Hosnian Prime’s crust where the Senatorial Complex and the primary naval base stood. All senators and aides had been evacuated off planet two hours before, but many still remained on the base. They were gone now, along with a kilometer wide crater in the midst of the capital city. 

The river where Poe and Armitage watched the sunsail races. Poe’s old apartment. Many of the people Poe had met in the six years that he’d lived there. All molten slag. Just like at Hays Minor. And Kelrune. And the moon of Spero. And many of the planets that the First Order had attacked during the war, making up for their loss of Starkiller Base in the most lethal way possible. 

Poe worked at Armitage’s side, mechanically absorbing damage reports and deciding what crisis was higher priority, working through the pain palpable in his eyes. Armitage reached out to him every so often and squeezed his shoulder, lending him as much of his fortitude as he could, what little he had left after the pummeling he’d endured that day. Many aboard ship were the same, either being from Hosnian Prime or having some close connection to it through friends or family. But they had no time to grieve, not yet, not while the aft shield array was in danger of collapsing entirely after being overtaxed by the _Conqueror’s_ turbolasers, and twenty-three of their cannons were destroyed or heavily damaged. Most of the damage would have to wait until they returned to D’Qar, but they needed to get the shield in some sort of working order before they went anywhere. 

After over an hour of repair work, the shield flickered on and stayed on. Armitage authorized the hyperspace jump to D’Qar. He considered ordering Poe to take a rest when he saw him drop a hydrospanner on his knee as he worked on one of the damaged X-wings, but the fallout from such a request would be too unpleasant to be worth it. In any case, despite being awake for twenty-five hours, Poe was still too perturbed to sleep. His nerves would eat at themselves in an endless rumination over the loss of so many lives, on top of the ones they had already suffered before today. Iolo had been shot down only three weeks ago in a bombing raid, his death still a fresh wound in both their minds.

Yet alas, the day was not yet over. The news came when they were forty-two minutes away from arriving at D’Qar. Organa called Armitage’s comlink directly, and asked him to take the call privately in his office. When her hologram first appeared, he’d attributed her grave expression to grief over Hosnian Prime, but when she made that request, he knew that this was something else. Apprehension sparked through him as he hurried to his office, scarcely waiting to close the door before asking what had occurred. 

When Organa told him, he reached shakily for his desk. Items fell on the floor as he collapsed on the hard wood, too stunned to go around to his chair. 

“I’m so sorry,” Organa said.

He nodded, keeping his face as steady as possible, infinitely grateful that she hadn’t told him on the bridge, for he was doing a miserable job at dissembling. He remembered that first conversation they’d had about planetary genocide and his own once begrudging reluctance to admit that he had not been so unperturbed by it as he had once pretended to be. 

“Thank you,” he said, amazing himself that his voice didn’t sound like the ragged scream boiling inside him. 

“Do you want me to call the bridge so you don’t have to tell them?”

 _No_ , he almost said.

“Yes. Please.”

Yet he went out to the bridge, anyway. He couldn’t be that much of a coward as to hide himself away completely. And there was an Arkanian on shift, a communications officer. He should be there when she heard the news. His family had all died long ago. Hers had been alive until a few minutes ago. They might still be, but the chances were too slim to cling to. 

He stood. Fixed his jacket. Straightened his spine. Raised his chin up. Yearned to call Poe right now and beg him to come running. 

Armitage returned to the bridge just as Organa’s hologram came online. He slid down to the starboard side to stand behind Kalin, who turned her head slightly, barely keeping herself from looking at him in confusion.

“Twenty minutes ago, two Star Destroyers attacked Arkanis. Their cannons overwhelmed the planet’s shields. Every population center was decimated.”

The entire bridge gasped. Kalin covered her mouth with her hands, pain and horror cutting across her face. Armitage placed a hand on her shoulder.

“They were able to send a signal after the attack,” Organa continued, “so some have survived, but we don’t know how many yet. The Republic is sending ships over right now. I’ll call back as soon as we know more, unless you get here first.”

Kalin was shaking. Everyone kept glancing at them while pretending not to look, expressions horrified. 

“Thank you, general,” Armitage said, forbidding his voice to be anything but even. 

Organa nodded at him, then ended the call. 

“Kalin,” he said, “I’m relieving you from duty early. Larte, have Wilkins, Sheb, and Dravvad informed of the same.” Three more Arkanians. Sheb had even joined because they were excited to be serving under one. “Open a ship wide transmission from my office.”

“Yes, sir. Sir?”

Armitage stopped mid-step. His body screamed to keep moving and leave this unbearable scrutiny, but he faced his captain.

“Yes?”

Larte looked at a sudden loss for what to say, but the concern on their face was genuine. 

“Admiral,” they said, “Kalin, I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Right hand clenched at his side, Armitage nodded shortly and strode out. He shut the door behind him, sat at his desk, and almost chocked on what was supposed to be a calming inhale. He tried a few more times until he was sure that he could speak without breaking. He pressed the flickering comms button, activating the transmission. 

The instant he was finished, he collapsed in his chair. But he couldn’t break now. He was still on duty. They would arrive at D’Qar in less than half an hour. There was too much to do. 

His comlink rang. Poe. Gasping, Armitage grabbed at it, almost knocking it to the floor in his desperation to hear Poe’s voice.

“Where are you?” Poe asked. 

“My office.”

“I’m coming up.”

Armitage dropped his head into his hand.

“Okay. Please hurry.”

“I will. I ran to the turbolift. Do you want me to keep talking?”

“Yes. But I’m not the only one grieving. You need comfort, too.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re not.”

Poe sighed loudly into the comlink.

“No, I’m not.”

“I almost ordered you to take a break.”

“I wouldn’t have taken that order.”

“I wouldn’t have given you a choice.”

“And pissed me off? You wouldn’t have done that to me.”

“Well, I didn’t. So you’re right.”

Tears leaked from Armitage’s eyes. He shifted his legs, shaking them furiously as he fought to keep the tears back until Poe got here, as if that made a difference. 

“I’m getting off the turbolift,” Poe said. 

Armitage sat up. It was only a short distance from the lift to his office. 

The door opened. Poe rushed inside, short of breath, face sweaty, eyes red. Armitage scrambled up, taking him in his arms, clinging to him. The instant they touched, his control broke and the tears came gushing out, sobs wracking his chest, every breath as agonizing as a knife to his sternum.

“It’s all gone,” Armitage mumbled, tripping over the syllables. “My mother’s grave. Where we met. Your old base. So many of the people you knew.”

“I know,” Poe said, tears in his breath, voice as shattered as his. 

Poe’s hands clung tightly at Armitage’s back. He tugged Armitage forward, bumping against a wall, and pulled them down to sit against it. They curled around each other, weeping onto shaking shoulders, the other the only thing keeping them from being cut lose and floating adrift into a bleak and shrieking void. 

He didn’t notice when they dropped out of hyperspace, nor when the _Dameron_ entered D’Qar’s atmosphere to settle beside the base. Larte handled all the necessary tasks without disturbing him. Their tears spent, Armitage and Poe continued to lean into each other, desperate for the comfort of the other’s warmth, their hands joined between them, unmoving save for their agonized breathing until his office’s comlink chimed with an incoming transmission from the bridge. Organa and Poe’s father had come aboard. They picked themselves up, fixed their clothes, and dried their tear tracks. Poe combed Armitage’s hair, ensuring that every strand was in place before leaving the office. 

Jess and BB-8 were waiting at the other side of the door, speaking to Snap and Karé on her comlink. She immediately reached for Armitage, who sank gratefully into her hug. They had only hugged a handful of times, once on his birthday, and the others times after she had almost died on a mission. When they pulled back, she handed him the comlink before giving Poe his own hug. BB-8 leaned against his leg, beeping mournfully. Armitage accepted their condolences and horrified shock. He was barely conscious of the words forming in his mouth, his mind drifting to the image of the headstone he’d ordered, the cool, Arkanian drizzle, his mother’s laugh. Then came Organa and Dameron, and more “I’m sorry”s, more worried looks. Dameron squeezed his shoulder tightly, his touch lingering for longer than required by strict politeness, his face filled with genuine concern. He had never warmed up to Armitage as much as Poe hoped, but Armitage felt another crack in the ice thawing between them in that moment. Organa hugged him, a first time occurrence that he also didn’t possess the mental clarity to fully process. He almost apologized for Alderaan, as if her planet’s destruction had been his fault. His own still stood, a fraction of its population still living, but every city was a charred wound bleeding ash into the atmosphere. The images glared back at them on his office monitors, stark crimson and black gashes seared through green and blue.

No one said it, too nice and decent to do so. The First Order could have assaulted any planet in the Republic to retaliate against its recent victories. The choice of Arkanis was a stab against Armitage. He was the one being punished. Because he had dared to betray the First Order and beat them time and again, because he just happened to have been born on Arkanis from a local woman, an accident. Three members of his crew had lost their families because of this arbitrary, yet crucial fact. Sheb had been lucky enough to come from a small village in the countryside, an area which had been spared as the First Order targeted urban areas with the highest population densities for maximum effect. They had already been able to receive a message from their parents, sent out in a batch from one of the remaining communication towers to reassure off-world loved ones that they were safe. 

Armitage should have disembarked from the X-wing on Hays Minor and let the locals throw rocks at him, let them beat him with their pain and scorn. He would have deserved that. But Sheb and Kalin and Wilkins and Dravvad and none of the people who had died today deserved this. 

Fuck. Hadn’t Armitage already felt properly ashamed on Hays Minor? Why couldn’t that have been enough?

Poe dragged him back to their chambers. Armitage had nearly fallen on the sofa, the bedroom too unbearable a distance to walk to, but Poe kept a firm grasp on his arm and pulled him through. They undressed in silence, boots tossed hollowly on the floor, not even Armitage’s distaste for messiness stirring as he shoved the boots haphazardly into the closet. They downed the sleeping pills they had never quite managed to quit. Only hardwired routine compelled Armitage to brush his teeth. His skin felt grimy with that day’s sweat, but he had no energy to shower. Neither did Poe, who pooled into bed before he did. When Armitage emerged from the refresher, Poe pulled back the blanket and held out his right arm toward him, a silent invitation and plea. He wrapped it around Armitage as soon as he slid into bed, tucking himself against him, his face pressed on Armitage’s t-shirt covered chest. Poe tucked the blanket around him. Armitage shut his eyes, lulled away from the ache in his chest only by the gentle rise and fall of Poe’s breaths.


	34. Chapter 34

Armitage awoke on his back. Bright light filtered through his eyelids. He opened his eyes, frowning at the cloudy sky stretched across the viewport. 

Oh. Right. He remembered now. He shut his eyes again, an eddy of fury and regret washing through him, fierce and sharp. Then he made the mistake of looking to his left, searching for the chrono on the side table. His gaze scratched across the painting on the wall. 

Sunrise on Arkanis. His fond memento of his mother’s birthplace, of the grave that no longer existed, pulverized into slag along with every rock and bird and person on every patch of land that the First Order had decimated. Armitage jerked back, gasping, breath quick and fast and aching. 

Poe stirred at his side. He quickly hugged Armitage, laying his right leg atop his, encircling him in protective warmth, yet Armitage could do nothing but stare at the rainy valley, knowing that the artist was probably dead, as well as the others on that boardwalk, and the locals doing their shopping at the market, and the peddlers, and, oh god, is this what empathy truly felt like? He’d never cared about these people when he had last been there. Sure, he’d recognized them as fellow Arkanians, and planned to make Arkanis an important state once the First Order reclaimed it, and he would have felt properly enraged if anyone had dared defile it in such a vile manner, but it would have been about his memories of mother and his possessive feelings for his home world much more than about individual lives lost. He wouldn’t have been considering Kalin’s middle aged parents, or her younger sister, who would have turned twenty next month. Or Dravvad’s large, extended family, only a small fraction of which still survived off-world. Or Wilkins’s three brothers, who had still been in school. 

Armitage grabbed Poe’s hand at his side, entwining their fingers, flinching as a tear rolled down his cheek. 

“I hate this,” he said, the very act of speaking hurting his throat.

“Me, too,” Poe said, anger comingled with grief. 

Armitage couldn’t see his face from this angle, but he felt Poe’s breath growing furious, chest pressing harder against Armitage.

“We need to end it,” Poe said. “End this damn war already. They did this now because we have them on the run. They’re injured and biting back. They’re trying to make us think that they have the true advantage, but they don’t. We need to strike before they can recover.”

Vengeful rage scorched through Armitage like wildfire, tempering his pain into a sharp blade with which he would slice out the First Order’s heart. 

“We cut off the snake’s head,” Armitage said. “Eliminating the rest will be simple after that. They might even surrender.”

Poe raised his head, propping himself up on his elbows to meet Armitage’s eyes.

“Destroy the _Supremacy_ ,” he said, eyes glittering. His jaw tightened with furious determination.

“It’s not indestructible. No ship is.”

“We’re rebel scum. We specialize in blowing up the mighty and indestructible.”

````````````````````````

“You want to what?” 

Organa frowned at them, arms crossed over her chest, intrigued by their proposal. As soon as she had come aboard the _Dameron_ for the memorial service, Armitage and Poe had cornered her in one of the empty offices to tell her the plan they had devised just an hour earlier. It was Poe’s brainchild, a cleverly destructive burst of inspiration. 

“Cut the _Supremacy_ in half,” Poe repeated. “Probably catch the rest of the fleet, too. They’d kill us all before we could get close enough to bomb this thing. We’d need to sacrifice a battle cruiser, else they won’t buy it. We get them to give chase, enter hyperspace coordinates into the navicomputer, get it ready to jump, then, once the ships have moved enough that the hyperspace entry point is behind the First Order fleet, our cruiser jumps to light speed.”

“The impact would turn the cruiser into a column of plasma,” Armitage said, “burning even hotter than a sun. It would only last a fraction of a second, but, at that speed, that’s all it needs to rip through everything between it and the hyperspace entry point. I can rig a specialized autopilot to make the jump at the required time. An actual pilot will unfortunately have to be on the ship to commence the sequence and turn the ship around, but they can fly away in a fighter quickly enough to avoid the hyperdrive whiplash.”

Organa considered the strategy for a moment, looking impressed. 

“That could work,” she said. “It’s drastic, but so have been so many of the things we’ve had to do. Let’s call Ackbar and Statura after the service, see what they think.”

Armitage and Poe nodded. There was also the question of how to find or lure the _Supremacy_ in the first place, but they might soon get lucky in that regard, even if the source of such potential information made Armitage yearn to blast the nearest piece of furniture into atoms. 

Rey had developed a certain rapport with Ren, an entanglement, as it were. She claimed that he had a conflicted soul, and could be turned back to the light. The fanatical asshole had almost killed Armitage for daring to commit the same betrayal that Ren was considering right now. 

It didn’t matter. Ren could do whatever the hell he wanted, as long as he stayed away from him and Poe. And Armitage couldn’t remain unmoved by the hope in Organa’s face whenever the subject of her son came up. He had grown to greatly admire and respect her as a colleague and a friend, and truly did wish her happiness, which only a reunion with her son could fully achieve. She had all but adopted Poe in the meantime, but, as much as she loved Poe as a son, he couldn’t replace the one she’d raised. 

And it would be a magnificent coup. 

“Kind of a repeat of us,” Poe had said. 

But Armitage wasn’t going to waste time thinking about that troll right now. The task he was about to perform required steadiness and concentration, which weren’t the easiest at the moment. In sharp contrast to the impassivity of the First Order, the Resistance held a memorial service after every battle to honor the fallen. Only in a minority of instances were bodies recovered and interred in a small cemetery close to the memorial stone at the base. In the cases of pilots, who were incinerated along with their ships, those instances were non-existent. Just so was the case with the dead in Arkanis, Hosnian Prime, and Hays Minor. Through the war, Armitage had been obliged to officiate over many of these ceremonies on the _Dameron_. 

At first, he had suggested half-heartily that, as captain of the ship, Larte could take over the duty from him, but Poe had silenced this entreaty with a firm look bordering on disappointment. 

“Of course,” Armitage had said, burying his discomfort at having to perform such a somber and unfamiliar ceremony. “It’s my flagship. I need to own up to all my responsibilities.”

“I can help you write what you’ll say.”

Armitage had gratefully latched onto Poe’s offer. He had continued to beg for his aid the next few times, wary of his own compositions sounding stilted or unfeeling. He’d cringed at some of the sentimental platitudes that Poe insisted were not as bad as he claimed, but finally gave in. His crew, still uncertain of him those first months, didn’t seem to mind them, so he bowed to Poe’s superior wisdom and experience of how to comfort the grieving. 

As time wore on, and more names were inscribed on the stone, more of his crew sacrificed for their goal to destroy the First Order once and for all, Armitage slowly felt less out of place and more prepared to stand on that podium without coming off as cold or fake. Despite growing less stern as he adjusted to his new role, he had never managed to develop a warm and personable demeanor, even for the sake of reassuring his crew that they weren’t serving under the callous monster they had once despised. The difference in styles between Organa’s, Ackbar’s, and Poe’s outwardly caring and charismatic memorial speeches and his own more distant and restrained ones had once made him feel intensely lacking. A frigid interloper callously intruding where he didn’t belong. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t care about his crew. Determined not to repeat his past apathy, Armitage had met every member of his new crew, learned every name, homeworlds, simple backstories. An emotional inconvenience when it came time to send them into danger, as he must, but Poe did the same simply because he wouldn’t think of any other way of doing things, and Armitage didn’t much fear that whatever attachments he might form would impede him from doing his job. After all, he sent the man he loved into extremely dangerous situations all the time. His connecting with the crew hadn’t become a problem, except for getting exactly what he’d sought after. 

When was the last time that Armitage had stood on this podium and felt like he shouldn’t be allowed to address his crew’s grief because he didn’t feel it as intensely himself? A few months, at least. He’d still felt a difference in the level of feeling, but nowhere near as acute as before. And now, as he climbed those few feet to be seen by everyone assembled in the main hangar, he felt no difference at all. Yet he wished that he did. As callous and monstrous as that made him, he wished with every fiber of his being that he could stop feeling this damn ache stabbing through his soul. 

Poe loved him. Why would he want him to feel so wretched? Armitage couldn’t walk or eat or think or simply exist without every cell in his body hurting. So what if he had been less compassionate than ideal before? He could at least think and do his job without having to struggle through a fog of pain robbing him of the will to breathe. 

He searched out his fellow Arkanians in the crowd. They stood together, seeking the companionship of their mutual grief. Armitage wasn’t sure that they had even known each other before this. He also looked for the two crew members who hailed from Hosnian Prime. They stood a little further back, also together. He met Poe’s equally troubled eyes, wishing that he were up here by his side. Poe had offered, but Armitage had foolishly declined, as if standing on this stage alone made it any less obvious that he had to carefully school his face not to scowl and tear up with the rage and thirst for revenge burning inside him. 

“Perhaps we have been lucky that we haven’t had to mourn this many lives at once until now,” he said, already hating that beginning, but it was too late. “Not in this particular war, in any case.” He struggled not to glance at Organa. “I’m sure none of us would even refer to it as luck. Five planets attacked, and four battles in six days just on this ship. Five battles for the war as a whole.” The _Raddus_ and Republic forces had attacked a First Order base a few days ago. “I’m afraid that I’m unable to recite the name of every person we have lost this week, for the number is too great. Much too great. Kelrune. The moon of Spero. Hays Minor. Hosnian Prime.” His throat clenched, strangling him. “Arkanis. The death tolls for the planets are only approximate. Eight hundred in Kelrune. One thousand and five hundred in the moon of Spero. Two thousand and three hundred-fifty in Hays Minor. Eighty-nine thousand and eight hundred in Hosnian Prime.” 

His hands were already painful fists at his back, and he hadn’t even said the most chilling number of all. 

“Four billion, two-hundred thousand, eight hundred in Arkanis. Three thousand, six hundred, thirty-nine Republic troops.” Most from the cruisers that had sacrificed themselves to prevent more Hosnian casualties. “Three hundred forty-six Resistance troops. Thirty-two of those from the _Dameron_.”

He pulled out his datapad from his pocket, the list of the _Dameron_ dead already on the screen, and began to read. By the time he reached the end, he felt like he’d hiked up a mountainside without a respite. He said the usual words. How they were grateful for their sacrifice. How they would always be honored and remembered. Then he mentioned a subject that he always refused to delve into before, despite it being a staple in his colleagues’ memorials. 

“I admit that I don’t know much about the Force. Nor have I had the best experience with it. But Major Dameron and General Organa have been teaching me that it goes far beyond what I saw of it in the First Order.” Armitage saw Poe’s surprise in his peripheral vision. Armitage never mentioned his previous loyalties in public, as if he could make everyone forget as long as he didn’t bring it up. “I can’t tap into the Force myself, so I have to take General Organa’s word for it, but I do know that it is all around us. All over the galaxy. I’ve felt it. Both cruel and good sides of it.”

About a year ago, when a particularly vicious flashback struck Armitage in a corridor, Organa happened to be walking with him. She took him by the hand, sat him down in an empty office, and told him to breathe. 

And he breathed. His throat unclenched faster than it ever had before, her hands on his upper arms soothing in a way that went beyond the simplicity of warm touch. A sense of safety permeated his body, relaxing his tense muscles, calming his heart back to a normal rhythm. Not even Poe had been able to bring him down from a panic attack so quickly. Armitage had stared at her in shock and confusion, and asked if she’d used the Force on him. She’d looked startled by the question.

“I don’t know,” Organa had said. “Maybe. I was just trying to calm you down. Although I do sometimes use it without knowing it.”

“I don’t know if it will help any of you to think of the Force right now,” he said to the crowd. “But I have been assured by those who can connect to the Force, that our life forces, souls, if you will, do remain in it when we die. That those we have lost, yesterday, during this war, any time previously, they’re not really gone. They’re still here with us, around us.” A knot ached in Armitage’s throat. “As we mourn them, we must remember that. We may no longer be able to see or hear them, but they are here with us.”

He blinked rapidly. If he stayed up here any longer, everyone would see the tears fall. This was as good a place to stop as any, so he turned slowly, hands still clasped behind his back, and climbed off the podium. Poe waited for him at the edge, and immediately grasped his face and tugged him down, kissing his cheek before pressing their foreheads together. They never showed this much physical affection before the crew, but Armitage couldn’t bring himself to care, for it took all his strength to keep his breath from hitching as he grabbed Poe’s waist. The tears wouldn’t be denied. They slipped free, rolling down his face and onto Poe’s. He gasped, wiping them off, murmuring apologies. 

“It’s okay,” Poe murmured, his own voice raspy. “Just feel what you need to feel.”

Armitage held onto Poe for longer than he should have as the crew began to disperse, talking among themselves. When he straightened again, ensuring that his face was dry, even though his eyes were bloodshot, Organa squeezed his upper arm, smiling through her sorrow.

“That was a lovely way to end it,” she said.

“Was it? I confess I didn’t plan that part. It sort of spilled out.”

“Well, you did a great job of it.”

“You did,” Poe said. “I was actually a little surprised to hear you bring up the Force at all.”

“I fully blame the two of you. You burrowed into my head.”

“Excuse me, ma’am, sirs?”

They turned toward Kalin, who had approached them along with the other Arkanians. Kalin and Wilkins’s eyes were rimmed with red. 

“We apologize for interrupting,” she said. 

“Not at all,” Armitage said. “What is it?”

“Sir,” Wilkins said, “we just want to thank you for the speech. We can’t speak for everyone, but it did help us and many of the others.”

Armitage couldn’t quite place the snug, warm feeling that tugged in his chest at those words. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. 

“See?” Poe murmured in his ear after they left. “You did good.”

Yes. He had done something good.


	35. Chapter 35

Ackbar and Statura approved of the plan, provided that they could get a lead on the _Supremacy_. As they had yet to discover any clues on its whereabouts, it looked like they might be completely dependent on Ren’s willingness to make the same decision that Armitage had, although Ren’s own was so simple that his continued prevarication pissed off Armitage. His mother was alive. So was his father, a good, decent, loving father like Kes Dameron. So what if Ren had inherited a sadistic streak? So had Armitage, and he was sure that he wouldn’t have gone so far down that path if his kind mother had been allowed to continue raising him. That was precisely why his father had ripped her away from him. Ren had no excuse. If he did finally deign to drag himself back, Armitage hoped that he had the decency to grovel for forgiveness for all the misery he put his poor mother through. 

While Ren made up his precious, little mind, preparations had to be made. They needed a sizable cruiser to melt into enough magnetized plasma to skewer the entire First Order fleet, if possible. It must also possess powerful shields to stay afloat for the required time. They didn’t have many that fit the bit. The _Dameron_ and the _Raddus_ were too valuable to sacrifice. Perhaps the Republic might be persuaded to give up one of their own, although the chances weren’t high. Also, while all evidence of First Order spies within the Republic military had been weeded out months ago, the possibility of a better camouflaged agent still remained. If the Resistance fumbled right at the finish line, the consequences could be disastrous. 

They made a very, short list of potential fire ships. Only three ships long, in fact. Doing a quick analysis of the minimum size they required and the potential for increasing shield strength, Armitage dismissed one off hand. As for the other two, he’d have to inspect them to make sure that he could make the proper adjustments to the autopilot and hyperdrive for the escape plan to work. Both could have their shields augmented, so that part wouldn’t be a problem. As stronger shields were as much of an asset on whichever ship survived the selection process, they ordered both ships’ engineering departments to begin bolstering them right away based on Armitage’s specifications. 

That afternoon, the _Dameron_ set out to meet the likeliest of the two candidates, a light cruiser, which was patrolling the border between the Unknown Regions and the Neutral Zone. Upgrading the shields served as the official reason for their visit, and attributed checking the autopilot and hyperdrive to simply being thorough while they were there. The shields took a couple of days, but the alterations to the autopilot were ready in only an hour. It’s computer systems had been updated constantly since the ship’s construction twenty years ago, and her speed and maneuverability were impressive for a ship this size. It would be a pity to render it no more than a blunt instrument, but destroying Snoke’s flying fortress was more important than a single ship. 

The other ship, a frigate, was halfway done with the shield when the _Dameron_ arrived, yet its autopilot required an extra hour of work. She was a tad slower than the other one, and also a twenty-seven meters shorter, and Armitage didn’t trust its navicomputer as much as he did the light cruiser’s. 

“It’s going to have to be the _Dania_ ,” Armitage told Poe in their quarters that evening. “I’ve already ordered it to return to D’Qar and the _Perseverance_ to take its place.”

“That’s a shame,” Poe said from his spot on the sofa. “It’s a good ship.”

“It is. But we can’t risk anything going wrong.”

Armitage took a shower, slipped on a black robe, and returned to the living room. Poe had stretched out on the sofa, half sitting against the left armrest on a couple of cushions as he worked on a datapad. Armitage picked up his feet and slid underneath them, laying them on his lap. He began to massage Poe’s left foot, kneading his thumbs deep into his sole. Poe hummed contentedly.

“That’s nice,” he murmured. 

Armitage took his time with Poe’s foot, caressing every centimeter from sole to toes and up his ankle, then repeated the massage on his right foot. Poe continued to tap at his datapad. This had become a comfortable routine of theirs. Whoever was second on the sofa gave the other a foot rub. Maybe even a calf rub. Pushing up Poe’s knit pajam pants, Armitage stroked up Poe’s left shin with both hands, then down to his calf, rubbing light circles over his skin. 

“Going for the full treatment today, huh?” Poe said.

“Hmhum.”

He should convince Poe to put down his datapad so Armitage could massage his hands next. Poe loved hand massages. Or coax him into bed so that Armitage could nuzzle his chest. That always left him drowsy and relaxed. 

As if that would help temper Poe’s fury at what Armitage had to tell him. 

“Poe?”

“Yeah?”

“I can set up the autopilot so that it only requires a few, simple inputs to function properly, but something could always go awry. The pilot may need to perform some last minute adjustments.”

“So we’ll only select someone who’s an expert at navicomputers.”

Armitage’s hands stilled on Poe’s leg. 

“It’s my design. I’m the one best qualified to fix whatever might go wrong.”

Poe lowered his datapad. He pulled his feet from Armitage’s lap as he sat up, eyes narrowed at Armitage in a decidedly displeased manner.

“Are you saying you want to be the pilot?” he asked, clearly wishing for Armitage to say no.

Armitage touched the cushion between them, gripping the plush surface, wishing for the return of Poe’s body heat.

“I’ve already decided. It should be me.”

“You decided without consulting me?”

“It’s an executive decision.”

“Which you always discuss with me. This isn’t how we do things, and you know it. Did you already tell Leia and the others?”

“No. I wanted to tell you first.”

Hope flowered in Poe’s face.

“So I can still change your mind?”

Armitage swallowed a weary sigh.

“No. But I’ll be fine. I’ll fly a fighter straight from the _Dania_ to the _Dameron_.”

“Which might get blasted by a TIE fighter.”

“You’ll be there to ensure that doesn’t happen.”

Poe’s face scrunched with worry.

“What if something does go wrong with the autopilot that you can’t fix? What if you do need to activate the hyperdrive manually?”

Armitage grabbed his right hand.

“I’ll make sure that I don’t need to.”

“It’s still a big risk.”

“Everything we do is a big risk.”

“But you don’t need to take this one. And you never take missions like this. Not since we got this ship. Is this about the attacks? Or because you feel guilty? You don’t need to prove anything.” Poe gripped Armitage hand in both of his. “Your dedication as an admiral of this fleet is without question. There’s plenty of guys who know the systems as well as you and can figure something out if need be, and you’ll program everything correctly, so there won’t be a need at all.”

Armitage slumped back on the sofa. He squeezed Poe’s hands.

“This isn’t about proving anything.”

Poe raised a brow at that, looking decidedly unconvinced.

“Are you bullshitting me right now?”

“No.”

Poe’s eyes narrowed, anger sparking in his eyes. 

“Alright.” Armitage scooched toward him, laying his free hand on Poe’s shoulder in silent apology. “It’s not entirely disconnected.”

“Not entirely disconnected? Really? If none of what happened had happened, would you be doing this?”

Armitage did Poe the courtesy of considering the question, even though it didn’t really make a difference.

“I can’t tell you with any certainty, but I would still be the person most qualified for the job.”

“That sounds like a deflection to me.”

“Poe, I watch you go out every mission with nothing between you and death but an X-wing, your skills, and an uncanny ability to do insane maneuvers while somehow staying alive. How is this any different? It actually is a bit. It’s much less risky.”

Poe fell back on the sofa, looking down at the floor. He rubbed his hands over his face, tugging at his hair. 

“So it’s hypocritical of me to complain, is it?” he asked after an uneasy stretch of silence.

“I’m not saying that. I’m merely putting things in perspective. And I’ll be fine.” Armitage leaned forward, trying to catch Poe’s eye. “I have no wish to get myself killed. This is hardly some form of self-sacrifice. I just want to end this as quickly and efficiently as possible. I want to pay them back for everything they’ve done.”

Ire crept into Armitage’s body, sharpening his voice. 

“You personally?”

“Yes. You’ve felt the same plenty of times, don’t deny it.”

Poe sighed.

“Fine. Yeah. I have. I get it.” He nodded somberly, sucking at his bottom lip. “I get it.”

Poe reached for him, cradling Armitage’s face in his hands. Armitage bent his right leg and shifted forward until their knees touched, and grasped Poe’s shoulders, rubbing his neck with his thumbs, quiet as Poe looked at him. He didn’t feel examined, just silently observed. Armitage held his gaze, drinking in Poe’s conflict and anguish and even pride in what Armitage had determined he needed to do. He stroked Poe’s jaw, apologetic.

“My decision may have something to do with the attacks,” he admitted, forcing himself not to lower his eyes awkwardly.

Poe jerked his head in a short nod. His lips pressed together.

“Yeah.”

“I’m still doing this.”

Poe stroked along Armitage’s hairline, tucking his hair behind his ear unnecessarily, lingering on the shell of his ear.

“I can see that. I trust you not to mess this up.”

“I won’t.”

“To come back to me in one piece.”

Armitage slid his fingers through Poe’s hair.

“I trust you with the same every day. You always come back. So will I.”

Poe slumped against Armitage, tucking his head on his shoulder while hugging his waist.

“I will hold you to that,” he said into the fabric of Armitage’s robe. 

Armitage breathed into his hair, holding him.

“I fully expect you to.”

````````````````````````````

Armitage informed the rest of high command of his decision in the morning. Organa appeared a bit surprised, but didn’t try to talk him out of it. He took on the task of telling the _Dania’s_ captain the unfortunate news. He gave her the option of being reassigned or remaining aboard with the most minimal skeleton crew required to operate the ship. The _Dania_ would accompany the _Dameron_ so both ships could jump together as soon as Ren finally decided to make up his damn mind and gave up the _Supremacy’s_ location, so it still required some crew, but the less people there were to transfer when the time came, the sooner they could get this done. There did exist the possibility that Ren might decide to lead them into a trap, although what greater one could he concoct than dropping them in the midst of the mightiest First Order fleet, which was exactly what they wanted, anyway? 

Both ships returned to D’Qar, where the _Dameron_ took a good portion of the _Dania’s_ crew. The captain chose to remain with her ship, which every available engineer immediately began to automate as much as possible. 

They left two days later for the border. Still no word on when Rey would finally be able to wear Ren down, although she claimed to be “close”. Armitage’s skin itched, anticipation building in his body like a virulent fever that he couldn’t shake, the only cure the _Dania_ searing its way through the _Supremacy’s_ heart. Yet a day dragged by. 

And another.

And another.

```````````````````

The shrill call of the morning alarm yanked Armitage from slumber. Armitage grimaced his eyes open, immediately startling at the sight of Poe’s face inches from his. 

“Sorry,” Poe said, scooching back on the floor, where he sat for some reason.

“What are you doing?” Armitage asked, stretching his body under the blanket. “Why are you down there?”

Color rose on Poe’s cheeks. He rubbed his nape, embarrassed at being caught in his bizarre endeavor.

“Watching you sleep. You’re facing this side, so… I have something to tell you.”

Frowning, Armitage carefully examined Poe’s face. Poe smiled nervously, his tone cautiously joyful, and held his hands in his lap, closed, fingers wrapped around something.

No.

It couldn’t be?

Could it? Finally?

Armitage sucked in an apprehensive breath, reading himself to ask, when the ship’s alarms blared. The call to quarters. He and Poe both jumped up. Their comlinks both trilled immediately. Cursing a blue streak, Armitage grabbed his from the bed as he stood up, hastily brushing his hair back.

“What’s happening?” he asked Larte’s hologram, rushing into the closet to grab a uniform.

“We have the location of the _Supremacy_ , sir,” they said. “General Organa just called. It’s only twenty-three minutes away. I’ve activated all the procedures. We’ll be ready to jump in no more than fifteen minutes.”

Only twenty-three minutes. They were practically next to it already. It was happening. He could finally fulfill his oath to obliterate the First Order. Vicious anticipation rose within him, sharpening his sleepy senses and filling him with the need to rage and destroy.

Beside him, Poe pulled on a flight suit. 

But couldn’t it have waited an extra two minutes?!

“Good,” Armitage told Larte. “I’ll be at the main hangar shortly.”

“Yes, sir. Good luck, sir.”

“Good luck to you, too, captain.”

Armitage ended the call. The required garments in hand, he sprinted to the refresher. He emerged in record time, finding a pair of boots Poe had laid out right outside the door. Poe sat on the bed, fastening his own. Armitage grabbed the boots and joined him. Their elbows bushed against each other, knees pressing for a moment.

“What did you want to tell me?” Armitage asked.

“Oh. I wanted to do a whole thing. A little speech. Something nice.”

Armitage’s heart thundered in his chest. He zipped up his second boot and stood up, Poe following close behind as they sprinted to the door. They couldn’t linger even long enough for Poe make any kneeling declarations, no matter how much Armitage had dreamed and yearned for this moment to come. He’d nearly given up all hope that Poe could ever be so certain of permitting a man like Armitage to remain in his life that he’d allow him to wear his mother’s ring.

“Do it in the turbolift,” Armitage said. 

“What? Oh, that works.”

Armitage jabbed the button for his private turbolift, inserting his code cylinder, another convenient holdover from the ship’s First Order days. The door opened immediately, and they hurried inside. Before the door closed, Poe pulled the ring from his pocket and dropped on one knee before Armitage.

“Armitage Hux,” he said quickly, holding the ring on its chain in his cupped hands. “Please marry me. I’m certain, one hundred percent. The thought of not being with you for the rest of my life is unbearable. I love you. I will never not love you. This ring belongs to you. Please do me the honor of taking it.”

Armitage’s hands trembled as he reached out, touching that small, precious piece of metal. Blinking rapidly, he grasped it gently, turning it over in his fingers, scarcely able to believe that it was really his, that this divine man kneeling before him had truly committed and devoted himself to him. 

“Put it on me,” Armitage said, voice barely functioning in his joy. 

Poe swiftly stood up and wrapped the chain around Armitage’s neck, tucking it inside Armitage’s shirt so that the warm metal pressed against his skin. The proof of a wife’s love, later a son’s, and now a future husband’s. They grabbed each other in a hug, kissing each other’s faces, stroking backs and hair and hands for as long as they could with the deafening call to quarters still blaring around them.

The lift came to a stop at the hangar level and they were forced to let go. 

Poe pressed the Close Door button, keeping the door from opening. He grabbed Armitage’s hand, kissing it fiercely.

“Come back to me,” he said, meeting his eyes in an intense gaze. “You hear me?”

“I will.”

Armitage leaned down, grasping Poe in one last forehead lock before making himself pull Poe’s hand away from the console and walk through the open door. 

They joined a frenzied stream of pilots and engineers hurrying down the corridor toward the hangar. They made way for Armitage and Poe, who continued to walk side by side, finding opportunities for their arms to brush together as they moved. Armitage struggled to keep a truly massive grin off his face. It wouldn’t do to be seen smiling in glee by his crew when they were about to engage the First Order. That wouldn’t do at all. Despite his best efforts, Armitage still looked a bit maniacal when he did so. Although no one would blame him for being keen on destroying the enemy, but, today of all days, he would maintain the appearance of a decent and noble Resistance officer and hide how immensely eager he was to kill every last person who dared to think that they could destroy his and his fiancé’s happiness. 

When they reached the hangar, he and Poe grasped each other’s hands and exchanged an intensely charged look, silently saying everything they ever needed to.

“Almost there,” Armitage murmured, smiling.

Poe grinned back.

“Go get ‘em.”

They let go, Poe veering right for the _Black One_ while Armitage strode forward toward a blue TIE fighter that had already been set down close to the hangar entrance for him. The shuttle carrying the _Dania’s_ remaining crew docked as he boarded, swiftly strapping himself in and flying off toward the fellow cruiser. 

Her hull gleamed a pearlescent white, not his favorite color, yet it became the slender, spear like vessel perfectly. It was truly a pity that she would have to be destroyed. The history books probably wouldn’t even note the ship’s name, but he would remember it. He’d recall every second of this mission. Slipping aboard the port hangar. Powering down the TIE. Running to the bridge. Double checking the jump coordinates to meet the _Supremacy_. Activating the hyperspace autopilot on standby. Setting the comms to the fighter squadron’s channel as well as the _Dameron’s_ bridge. The former was muted on his side for now. The last thing he wanted was to distract them at a crucial moment. However, they did have twenty-three minutes of travel time (the _Supremacy_ better as hell not jump in that time), so he did open a frequency to the _Black One’s_ private channel. 

Larte’s voice came over the comms.

“We’re ready to jump, sir,” they said. 

Armitage gripped the lever.

“On my mark. Three. Two. One.”

He pushed the control. The ship shuddered as the stars elongated, thrusting through the bright blue of hyperspace. 

A few seconds in, Poe answered his call. 

“Hey,” he said.

Armitage smiled. He held Poe’s ring in his hand, twirling it between his fingers.

“Hey.”

“You all set up?” 

“Yes. There’s nothing for me to distract myself with other than this beautiful ring you gave me.”

Poe chuckled.

“Did you check to see if it fits any of your fingers?”

“I did. Too small.”

“We could have it resized.”

“I’d rather keep it like this, the way your mother wore it.”

“That’s such a sweet sentiment.” Armitage could hear Poe’s touched smile. “It makes me want to kiss you.”

“Kiss where, exactly?”

“Now, let’s not go down that road right now. We have to keep our heads somewhat in the game. Need to snap to as soon as we get there.”

“Very wise of you, major. I shall follow your advice.”

The ring gleamed in the light. Slight dents and scratches covered its surface from years of use before it had even graced Poe’s mother’s finger. The ring was actually a washer, an engine part from a rebel Y-wing. In the midst of hiding from Imperial patrols, Poe’s parents hadn’t had the opportunity to acquire rings actually designed to be worn, and had decided that washers worked well enough. There had been a time when Armitage would have turned up his nose at the notion of wearing a ship part as jewelry. What a naïve prat his old self had been. He had never worn anything so important and precious. 

“Thank you for giving me this,” Armitage said.

“I wish I could have given it to you earlier. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“Hush. That doesn’t matter anymore. I’m perfectly happy right now.”

“I’m happy, too. I wish I could show you how much right now.”

Armitage grinned.

“Disregarding your own advice already, are you?”

“Sorry. My bad. I’ll keep it clean. I suppose… We could plan the wedding.”

“What’s there to plan? Organa will officiate, of course. We exchange vows, then we hole up in our chambers for a couple of days.”

“After the reception.”

“Can’t we skip that and go straight to cuddling?”

“No. People will want to celebrate with us.”

“Can’t they wait until we’ve had our fun?”

“Receptions are fun.”

They continued conversing until a couple of minutes before dropping out of hyperspace. Sitting up straighter in his chair, Armitage shifted back into full alert and double checked the systems, ensuring that everything was still in perfect, working order. He touched base with the _Dameron_ while Poe did the same with his squadrons. 

“Good luck out there, honey,” Poe said.

“You, too, darling,”

Armitage disconnected the call. He watched the timer on the console count down the last, remaining seconds before they arrived at the location Ren had given them.

_Please be there please be there please be there…_

The peaceful cerulean hue vanished, replaced by darkest black complemented by the bright orange and yellow of a faraway nebula, but Armitage only noticed this as incidental detail. Proximity alarms blared around him. His hand trembled with hungry anticipation as he switched them off. Breath left him, sweat beading on his back and the palms of the hands. 

There it was. The floating leviathan, more mobile space station than ship, once his proudest and most sought after ambition. How he’d hungered sleepless nights, dreaming himself sitting on the throne in that vast receiving chamber, walls so crimson they might as well be gushing blood. The entire galaxy subjugated at his feet, waiting on his every command, helpless to strike back at him and make him hurt now that the Republic and the Resistance had been decimated. 

What a fool he had been. Supreme Leader Hux. Had he really thought that would make him untouchable? That the conquered masses could actually be so broken that they’d be compelled to stay that way with no more than a whimper under the boot heel of his military might? As if the sun-bright flame burning inside Poe and Organa and Jess and Snap and every member of the Resistance he’d had the honor of working with, as if they could possibly be snuffed out so easily. 

Armitage touched the ring on his chest, smile vicious and sharp as he immediately ordered the computer to begin calculating coordinates for a jump. The _Dania_ and the _Dameron_ had arrived on the _Supremacy’s_ starboard side. Four Star Destroyers escorted it, two fore and two aft. Armitage gasped.

The _Finalizer_. It hovered before him, preceding the _Supremacy_. His home for a decade, the last vestige of his life in the First Order that he kept any tender feeling for. 

He sat up straighter in his chair. He had already said his farewell when he abandoned ship a year and a half ago. There was no need to do so again, yet he still tilted his head, allowing himself a second’s good-bye as he yanked at the control yoke, steering the _Dania_ away.

The Resistance ships moved into position behind the fleet, pretending to flee, the _Dameron’s_ fighters flying out to head off the TIEs that would be incoming any second now. The _Dania_ shuddered as shots from one of the Star Destroyer’s pummeled its shields. They held, but they needed to increase their distance. 

Armitage pulled up the holotank. The two closest Star Destroyers were already turning around to give chase, but the _Supremacy_ wasn’t moving. Armitage clutched his armrest too hard in frustration before realizing the obvious. The Star Destroyers weren’t only turning, they were ducking down lower than the _Supremacy_ to give it space to turn. Already, its massive wings were shifting, oscillating clockwise. The _Dameron_ and Armitage were too juicy of a target for Snoke not to come after himself. The remaining Star Destroyers turned along with it, rising a bit above it to continue protecting its stern. TIEs streamed out from the front two, many cut down right after leaving their hangars by Resistance fire, but not enough. 

A TIE shrieked past the bridge. Armitage rushed to another console, pulling up the gunnery controls, which he’d rerouted from its regular terminals. The TIE exploded outside the viewport, shot down by one of Armitage’s fighters. Armitage heard Poe whoop in triumph on the comms. He smiled. 

The navicomputer beeped. He knew what that sound meant, yet looked over just in case. 

Yes! The calculations were finished, the hyperspace entry point set. Turning back to the targeting console, he found the nearest TIE and blasted it with the aft cannons. A gleeful smile overtook his face. He found another, killing it in an instant. At their current speed, the _Supremacy_ would pass the entry point in four minutes. 

Four minutes. That’s all they needed. Just four more minutes. 

He continued striking down as many TIEs as he could, alert to the sound of Poe’s voice on the comms. The _Dameron_ was holding its own just as well. Both ships were far away from the fleet now that the First Order’s cannons were at the very limit of their range. Soon, their fire would be completely ineffective and the ship wouldn’t even shiver at their shots. Armitage kept glancing at the holotank. The hyperspace entry point gleamed, a small, red dot. The closest Star Destroyer passed over it, then the other. 

The ship ceased trembling. They were out of range. Larte confirmed that they were boosting the _Dameron’s_ engines as far as they would go, and should also be out of range momentarily. 

The _Supremacy_ dragged over the red dot, its movements seeming to slow, its pace infuriatingly glacial. 

Armitage growled. It was just his desperation altering his perception. Of course the _Supremacy_ hadn’t throttled its speed. The TIEs were falling back from the _Dania_ , already being recalled, yet they were still on the _Dameron_ like ants on honey. 

Finally! The _Supremacy_ cleared the entry point. Just two more Star Destroyers left. Armitage primed the hyperdrive.

“This is the admiral,” he broadcast on the comms. “I’m beginning the sequence. All fighters get clear of the _Dania’s_ path.”

The Star Destroyers passed the entry point. The entire First Order fleet had flown into their trap, launching itself at the tip of Armitage’s spear. He turned the ship. By necessity, he had to slow down a bit, but they were still just far enough that the First Order wouldn’t have time to save itself. They would be obliterated before they had any hope of landing a killing shot. 

Armitage set the autopilot to 2:00 and ran down to the hangar. The TIE powered up in a few seconds, then he was out of the boarding tunnel. 

Immediately, he was side swiped by cannon fire crackling on the shields. The TIEs had returned. One was on his tail, while more blasted at the _Dania_ , as if that could stop it. He swerved right, dodging the TIEs shots. He fired behind, but the shots missed. Damn it. On the ground, with a blaster, he was a fine shot, but in the air, with a ship to fly and all the swooping and ducking, his aim was always off. 

Shit, he was too close to the _Dania’s_ thrusters. Only fifty-five seconds before it jumped. He kept dodging, finger tight on the trigger, raining blasterfire on the TIE.

It exploded. Finally! 

He began to return to the _Dameron_ , but four more TIEs appeared, firing at the _Dania’s_ thrusters. No! He swooped back, firing at them, opening his mouth to alert the squadron, but Poe gave the order before he could and showed up with three more X-wings. Two TIEs were scrap within seconds. One of the _Dania’s_ thrusters began to blink in and out. One of the TIEs fired back at the fighters while the other continued assaulting the thrusters while swooping and diving to dodge fire. Armitage fired at it along with the X-wings.

Twenty-five seconds before the jump. 

Another TIE hammered them from behind. One of the X-wing’s S-coils caught fire.

Twenty seconds. Poe swooped in under the two TIEs, shooting down the one firing at the thrusters. 

Fifteen seconds. They needed to move. One of the X-wings shot down the latest arrival. 

Eleven seconds.

“Everyone retreat now!” Armitage called through the comms. 

The X-wings all rushed toward the _Dameron_ , flying as fast as their thrusters could carry them. Even the remaining TIE knew it was hopeless and flew off, not even bothering to fire at them in its haste. Poe flanked Armitage. 

Five seconds. They were still too close. The hyperspace wake might still hit them. Armitage fell behind Poe, covering him. Poe and BB-8 both shouted at him.

“Armitage, what are you doing?!”

The TIE shook violently as realspace bent and stretched around the _Dania_. Alarms blared. Something cracked open. Pain flared in Armitage’s chest, body snapping back against his seat, then darkness.


	36. Chapter 36

Lights shone in his eyes, as bright as the agony screaming in his chest.

No. 

Wait. 

His eyes were closed. But the pain was real. He groaned, clenching his teeth. Hands touched him, voices growing louder. He jerked away, regretting it immediately as pain twisted in him.

“Armitage, can you hear me?”

Poe. He opened his eyes, but all he saw were blurred shapes.

“Major, you should be sitting down. You took a blow to the head, too.”

Kelly, their chief medical officer.

“I’m fine.”

“Poe, sit down.”

He hardly noticed the words on his own tongue. The images sharpened. Poe and Kelly stood next to him, half inside the cabin he sat in. A TIE fighter. Right. He’d flown a TIE to the _Dania_. Poe looked ready to faint with worry.

“Admiral,” Kelly said, voice gentle. “What are you feeling? Dizziness? Pain?”

“Dizzy.” His stomach churned, bile rising in his throat. “Nausea. Broken rib.” 

The pain felt too familiar to be anything else. 

“It looks like you have a concussion. Does it hurt anywhere else?”

Poe had sat down on the floor, refusing to leave his side. The sight made Armitage smile. 

“No.”

Beside Poe stood BB-8. Jess. Wilkins. Sheb. Many more members of his crew. 

Armitage had left the _Dania_. He’d turned the ship around. Everything had been primed and ready to blast the First Order fleet. Then TIEs had appeared. And… and what?

“What happened?” he asked. “Did we destroy the fleet?”

“We did,” Poe said. “All the ships. Split right down the center.”

Satisfaction flowed through Armitage. They’d done it. They’d finally killed Snoke’s monstrosity, and probably him along with it. The rest of the First Order would fall to its knees quickly now. At last count, they only possessed…

How many ships? Why couldn’t his mind function properly? Kelly pressed something into his forearm. He hadn’t even noticed her rolling up his sleeve. Or that his helmet had been removed from his head. It lied at his feet.

“I just gave you a painkiller,” she said. 

Right. Pain. Concussion. His eyes shut. 

“Would you like me to sedate you?” Kelly asked. “It will be far more comfortable for you.”

He was the ranking officer. He should remain conscious, but no proper medical officer would let him work like this. His head ached. Had it hurt before? He wanted to sleep.

“Yes,” he said, head heavy. “Okay.”

Something else touched his arm. A slight pinch. He surrendered to unconsciousness.

`````````````````````````

His mouth was dry. Armitage opened his eyes, searching for the glass of water he always kept on the bedside table. 

“He’s awake,” someone said. 

Armitage jerked up, reaching for his blaster instead, then stopped as BB-8 beeped,

_It’s okay. It’s us._

Jess and BB-8 stared at him, Jess grinning from ear to ear.

“Welcome back, sir,” she said.

The clinically white walls of the medbay surrounded them. Of course. Armitage had been injured and incoherent inside a TIE fighter. The hyperspace wake from the _Dania_ had struck his ship. That had been in it, hadn’t it?

“Did I block Poe’s ship with my own?” he asked. 

He felt perfectly alright now, save for some mild sleepiness, but the medication should have cleared up the concussion, restoring him to a healthy state. He sat up on the cot, folding his legs under him. Jess sank into one of the chairs beside his bed. One of two. Had Poe recently occupied the second one?

“Yeah, you did,” Jess said. “He’s been alternating between calling the action stupid and heroic all night. He’s probably going to kiss you, and then yell at you when he gets back. He’s in the refresher. He’s been here the whole time. Kelly wouldn’t let him return to duty. I’ve been in and out.”

“You’re uninjured?”

She nodded.

“I’m happy to hear that,” Armitage said. “How many did we lose?”

Her face fell at the mention of the dead.

“Nineteen. Dravvad among them.”

One of the Arkanians. He’d died avenging their wounded planet. Armitage had discovered that there was small comfort in that, but he would take whatever he could. 

“The aft shields are on the fritz again,” Jess continued.

“We may need a new array by this point,” Armitage said. “They’ve taken too hard of a pummeling lately.”

He glanced at the door, willing Poe to walk through it.

“Probably. We picked up the First Order escape pods. The brig is pretty full. Snoke is dead.”

Relief flooded Armitage, the memory of an invisible hand slamming him to the floor tearing through his mind, then vanishing, its power extinguished by Armitage’s own. 

_That’s enough war stuff for now,_ BB-8 said. _Poe will be back any second and we haven’t even congratulated you yet._

“Yes,” Jess said, smiling again as she looked at the ring, which lied atop Armitage’s shirt. “Congratulations. We’re so happy for you two.”

_We always knew it was only a matter of time._

Armitage rubbed the ring between his fingers, a smile tugging on his lips.

“Did you?”

“Hell, yes. You two are ridiculously head over heels about each other. It’s obnoxious.”

The door whooshed open. They all turned, Armitage holding his breath in hope. 

“You’re awake,” Poe called out, sprinting to the bed.

He enveloped Armitage in a tight hug, and Armitage sank into it gratefully, eyes closing as he drank in Poe’s body, solid and warm and safe under his hands. 

“Kelly said you’re okay now,” Poe said, words leaving him in a rush. “Are you okay? Nothing hurts? I should have asked that first.”

“Nothing hurts.” Poe kissed his forehead. “How are you? How’s your head?”

Kisses rained down Armitage’s face.

“I’m fine.”

“You said that before.”

“I really am fine. I’m fine now. I wasn’t even concussed.”

The door opened again. Only then did Armitage register the sound of retreating footsteps and a rolling droid. 

“Bye, guys,” Jess said, waving at them before she and BB-8 slipped out the door.

Ordinarily, Armitage would have felt a little regretful at having chased them off, but he couldn’t care less right now. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” Poe said when he turned back to Armitage, scowling sternly at him.

Ah. So Jess had been right on both counts. 

“I was thinking that I needed to protect you and BB-8.”

The righteous recrimination drained from Poe’s face, replaced by concern.

“You didn’t need to.”

Armitage raised his hands to Poe’s face, stroking his cheeks, the sharpness of his stubble scratching pleasantly on his thumbs.

“Of course I did.”

Poe hung his head, sucking in a deep, shuddering breath. Armitage raised his face to meet his, forehead to forehead, nose to nose, breath to breath. Poe clung to his waist like he might fall if he let go even for a moment.

“I would have done the same if I hadn’t had BB-8 with me,” Poe said, breath warm on Armitage’s lips. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m not sorry.”

Poe’s snort sounded like a sob.

“Of course you’re not.”

“You’re alive. I’m alive. Snoke is dead. The _Supremacy_ is dead. The First Order is in our grasp. Soon, we’ll end it all. The war will be over.”

“No more fearing for each other’s lives. No more staying awake for three days straight because the enemy won’t leave us alone.”

“Well, I reserve the right to stay up for as long as I need to.”

“Not happening. Unless something will literally explode if you stop working, I will grab you and carry you to bed myself.”

“Hmm. I can see some appeal to that.”

“But first…” Poe touched the ring, stroking Armitage’s skin gently as he did so. “I already spoke to Leia.”

“Let’s do it as soon as we get back.”

“Okay. Snap and Karé won’t be there, though. They’re still at the border.”

Armitage sighed forcefully.

“Alright, we’ll wait.”

“Nope.” Poe leaned back, smiling as he gazed intensely into Armitage’s eyes, face shining with care and affection. “As much as I love them, I don’t want to wait any longer. The man I love just risked his life to protect me and my friend, and I want to reward him properly. As a husband.”

Husband. Armitage glowed at the word.

“Poe Dameron,” he said. “My future husband. I can scarcely believe it.”

Poe nuzzled his cheek.

“Believe it. I’m not going anywhere.”

`````````````````````````

“Poe and Armitage,” Organa said, “I declare you two husband and husband.”

Armitage and Poe smiled at each other, hands clasped together, silver bands on their fingers. They had just exchanged the vows that bound them together for the rest of their lives before all their friends in D’Qar, including Karé and Snap, who were in attendance via hologram. A holocam lied on the dais so that they could see the ceremony. Even Finn had come. Relations between him and Armitage would never be cordial, Armitage’s crimes against him, indirect or not, too bitter to be forgivable, but they had agreed to be civil when necessary for Poe’s sake, and Finn had ceased to regard him with suspicion every time that they were together, finally accepting that Armitage was truly determined not to be anything like General Hux again.

Poe looked radiant in a sapphire blue suit adorned with a silver cloak draped over his left shoulder. Armitage had never seen him in anything other than uniforms and casual wear, and the sight of him standing so elegantly at the altar had made Armitage’s knees weaken and his breath catch.

“May the Force be with you for all your days,” Organa concluded, smiling proudly at them both. 

That was the last bit. They were officially married. They grasped each other’s faces, leaning in forehead to forehead, eyes closing, their equivalent of a liplock. The crowd clapped and cheered, their enthusiasm in such sharp contract to the cold distrust Armitage had received when he first arrived, making Armitage chuckle. Poe joined him, kissing his cheek. Every time that Armitage had thought that he couldn’t possibly know more happiness than that moment had been superseded by another, but he was sure that none could rise beyond this one. 

Kes Dameron hugged him that day. He actually hugged him, and not because he felt compelled to. 

“I’ve gained a new son today,” he said during his speech at the reception. “I knew I would one day when Poe came out to me. But I also worried that it might be hard for him to find someone who could match his dedication and his loyalty. When Poe loves someone, it’s with his whole heart and soul.”

“I got it from you, dad,” Poe called out from their end of the table. 

Laughter rang around the room.

Kes (he insisted that Armitage call him Kes now) shrugged, looking mildly chagrined.

“Maybe,” he said. “Anyway, the point is, he’s found exactly that in Armitage.”

He glanced at Armitage, who grabbed Poe’s hand under the table, suddenly overcome with emotion at the recognition. Poe placed his free hand at the small of Armitage’s back, leaning into him.

“I admit,” Kes continued, “at first, I had my doubts, but, as a father, it’s my prerogative to wonder if the man my son brings home is worthy of him. And Armitage didn’t have the best past, but that doesn’t matter now. It’s also a father’s job to step back and trust when his son tells him that the man he’s chosen is right for him and is, in fact, worthy of his love.”

Armitage loosened his hold on Poe’s hand. He had squeezed suddenly when Kes mentioned his former doubts, inciting a memory of his contemptuous look and insistence that Armitage wasn’t good enough for his son. 

“Armitage is,” Kes continued, looking over at them. “He’s proven it over and over again. I haven’t seen Poe this happy since he first learned to fly his mom’s A-wing.”

Jess and a few of the others called out exaggerated “Awww”s, which Poe waved away, smiling.

“Your mom would be so proud of you today, Poe” Kes said, voice tightening with emotion. “I know she’s with us right now sharing this moment.”

Tears gleamed in both Dameron’s eyes. Poe clutched Armitage, inhaling sharply. Armitage kissed his cheek and wrapped his left arm around his waist, moisture pricking his own eyes at the thought of his own mother.

“Armitage,” Kes said. “I didn’t know your mom, but from what you’ve told me about her, I know she’d be proud of you, too. I’m sure she’s here, too.”

A tear spilled over onto Armitage’s cheek. He hadn’t cried before anyone except Poe since he was five years old, but he couldn’t keep these rebellious drops from getting out. Poe looked up at him with tender love and sorrow. Kes raised his wine glass, and everyone followed his lead.

“To Poe and Armitage,” he called out.

“Poe and Armitage!”

Armitage jerked slightly at the clapping that followed, shaken and touched like he’d only been when Poe proposed to him in the turbolift right in the eve of achieving what they’d fought so hard for. He barely registered his own movements as he and Poe stood up and met Kes half-way, Poe embracing him first, saying, “Thank you, dad”. Armitage turned away from their audience to wipe away his tears with the back of his hand, as if that disguised anything, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, then he hugged Kes, as well, no bit of it awkward or forced or anything other than absolutely sincere and needed. 

“Welcome to the family,” Kes said when they pulled away.

“Thank you,” Armitage said, barely preventing his throat from closing around the words. “I didn’t expect you to mention my mother.”

Poe grabbed his hand again, smiling at both of them.

“How couldn’t I?” Kes said. “Listen, I am sorry for not listening to the two of you when I first met you.”

Armitage and Poe both shook their heads.

“That’s alright. We understand.”

“That’s all in the past, dad. Whatever we did wrong in the past, we leave there. That’s our policy now.”

Kes nodded and squeezed both their shoulders.

“Good policy. I’m sure the two of you will be very happy. I wish you all the luck in the world.”

Poe’s and Armitage’s thank yous stumbled over each other. 

The party carried on until midnight, when people remembered that they still had duties to perform in the morning and needed to get some sleep. But before then, they ate and laughed, the music that Armitage had missed when they took the _Dameron_ finally playing around him. Poe and Armitage finally had the privilege of their first dance, although Armitage soon discovered that his body didn’t have the faintest idea what to do with itself in trying to imitate what theoretically were simple steps, yet proved impossibly arcane when he made an attempt. After stepping on Poe for the third time, and apologizing profusely, Poe wrapped his arms around him and pressed his face to Armitage’s chest. 

“Let’s just sway,” he said, moving gently back and forth.

Armitage didn’t argue, and followed his lead, swaying gently in slow circles, chin pressed to Poe’s hair, tucked comfortably against his body. His feet barely moved, dancing more in principle than in name, but what did it matter? It was perfect. Poe’s love. Kes’s approval. Their friend’s joyous enthusiasm. Every aspect of this moment was perfect.


	37. Chapter 37

_Epilogue_

Rain fell on Armitage’s face, wetting his skin and soaking his hair, only the impermeable fabric he wore keeping it from drenching his entire body. Ordinarily, he’d scrunch up his nose and protest the ruination of his look, but today he raised his head, eyes closed, indulging in every drop of Arkanian water that his home planet bestowed on him. Poe stood beside him, getting equally wet despite the shut umbrella hanging from his right hand. Armitage had insisted that Poe need not follow his lead in this bizarre exercise in nostalgia, but Poe had shrugged, saying, “You saw how rainy Yavin 4 is. It doesn’t bother me.”

They had just arrived from Yavin 4, the site of a much belated honeymoon, as well as a happy homecoming for Poe and Kes, who hadn’t been allowed to set foot on their home for over two years. Just like at the end of the last war, the remnants of the First Order had rebelled against the prospect of defeat and continued to bite and gnash their teeth long after their doom had been assured. Yet, unlike the last time, there was no Contingency, no further, secret territory to hide in while building new armies to strike back at the New Republic after decades of patient planning and building. The Unknown Regions were unknown no more to the larger galaxy. The last bastion of the deceased Empire was all the First Order had ever had, and now it too had been snatched from their hands. 

The cleanup continued to this day, but, now that the Resistance was being disbanded at last, Kes had finally been able to convince Armitage and Poe to take a rest. Many, including all the veterans from the Rebellion, were mustering out permanently, while the rest had been offered positions in the New Republic military. Poe had yet to decide if he wished to return or follow his parents’ example and retire. Armitage wasn’t sure what he would choose. Poe was a man of duty, and would always feel obligated to give his best to the Republic he’d helped preserve, but the years of toil and death had taken their toll. He was tired. They both were. L’ulo. Muran. Iolo. C’ai. Countless others had fallen, soldiers and civilians alike. Armitage would never be able to forgive himself for so many of them.

He had felt shame when Poe took him to visit his mother’s gravesite n Yavin 4, experiencing the same nervousness and insufficiency that he’d felt when meeting Kes. But Kes had been able to forgive his past. Poe assured him that his mother would have done the same. Her headstone was a simple, coal black block of granite, its rounded edges cut like a faceted gemstone. _Shara Bey_ , it read. _Loving mother and wife_. Armitage couldn’t remember what he’d ordered inscribed on his own mother’s headstone. His head fell at the realization.

“Mom,” Poe had said, holding Armitage’s hand. “I’m sure you already know, but I want to do a formal introduction. This is Armitage, my husband. We’ve been married for nine months and it’s going great. You’d like him. I know what you would have said when you met him. Tall, nice cheekbones, and dry sense of humor. Just your type.”

They’d shared a smile at that, then Armitage had wiped Poe’s tears away, and told Poe’s mom how happy he was to meet her. 

Armitage gazed at the rain forest in front of him. Bright green fronds, tall, leafy tress, branches stretching out and up into the sky, seeking every glimmer of Arkanis’s always muted sun rays. The base in D’Qar was surrounded by jungle. So was Poe’s home on Yavin 4. Only the pine forests of Starkiller Base had been cold and icy. Beautiful and fascinating in its own way, but never possessing that touch of home. Armitage shouldn’t stray from jungles again. He was much happier here. 

Nature had continued to flourish on Arkanis despite the ugly craters left behind by the First Order, staining the planet like pulsating sores. Recovery had been slow, but many of the destroyed areas were now deemed safe to rebuild, and while many Arkanians had emigrated during the crisis, seeking stable conditions, some who had previously moved away returned to help restore their original home. Armitage was one of these. 

Soon after acquiring the _Dameron_ (which he’d had to give up, as private citizens couldn’t own battle cruisers), he’d developed a plan for his future after the war, should he survive it. While Poe, Organa, and Kes had finally convinced him that democracy was preferable to the alternative, the notion of working for the New Republic military didn’t appeal to him. He would found an engineering company to develop new technologies, some martial, but most not, and he would begin here, on Arkanis. With only a small fraction of the population surviving, the economy was in shambles, with only the agricultural sector still in production from people’s simple need to eat and its distance from the cities that were no more. Armitage’s company would create jobs and bring financial prospects to the area once more. Already, off-planet parties were interested in investing, but Armitage was very careful not to broker any deals that didn’t favor the locals. 

His people. There were precious few of them left, and he would do the best he could by them.

But there was one thing he needed to do first. They could no longer visit his mother’s grave, but she was more than a body in the ground. She was in the Force that flowed all around them. In the soil under their feet. In the trees standing around them. In the birds chattering away, joined by faraway monkeys and a wealth of chirping insects. In the rain splattering on their heads. Armitage squeezed Poe’s hand and met his eyes before turning back to the forest.

“Mum,” he said, already tearing up. “We haven’t spoken in a while. I’ve come home. I’m here to stay this time. I brought my husband, Poe. He’s made me happier than I’ve ever been other than with you. He taught me to cook. I know you taught me how to make an omelet, but, I’m sorry, I forgot how during the years. I know again now. He also taught me how to be that kind person you always wanted me to be. Father didn’t win, mum. He tried, but he didn’t win. He can’t touch us now. Poe saved me from him.”

“I helped,” Poe said softly, stepping around Armitage to hug him with his free hand. “Your son saved himself.”

Armitage scoffed, but it turned into a sob. Sniffing, he leaned his head on Poe’s, taking a deep breath. It was hard to speak now.

“He’s far too humble. I couldn’t have done it without him. That’s the truth.”

He kissed Poe’s hair. Poe tilted his face up, meeting his eyes, which brimmed with affection. Armitage kissed his forehead. He kept his lips pressed to his skin for a long while, their tears mixing with the rain until the downpour faded away, and a rare glimmer of sunlight peaked through the branches, bathing them in warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! I can't believe I finally posted it all. Thank you so much to everyone who commented and left kudos. It means so much to me. Writing this fic was like a two month long fever dream. I've never written anything so quickly or intensely. I fell in love with these two and couldn't let go.


End file.
